


Smoke and Mirrors

by The_Plaid_Slytherin



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Big Bang, M/M, Mystery, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-25
Updated: 2010-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-17 04:50:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 43,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/173074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/pseuds/The_Plaid_Slytherin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty years before the Fall of the Twelve Colonies, Saul Tigh is settling in to his new position on the battlestar Columbia and is enjoying his chance to work closely with his best friend, despite his frequent clashes with the ship's CAG. When a separatist group stages a violent attack, Saul is held responsible. With a Quorum election looming, Bill and Saul must clear his name and figure out who is behind it, before it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_**Smoke and Mirrors 1/16**_  
  
If Saul Tigh knew one thing in life, it was that Bill Adama was usually right.

He didn't make a habit of admitting this out loud (Bill already knew, anyway), and his willingness to admit it was inversely proportional to the earliness of the hour.

Which was why he would never admit how much he loved their morning runs.

There was something about the sound of two pairs of rubber-soled shoes hitting the metal floor in synch, two friends breathing in tandem, that made him feel closer to Bill than he did anywhere else, even in bed. (Though, admittedly, he'd rather be in bed most mornings than pounding _Columbia_ 's corridors.) He'd die before saying anything to Bill, but he often wondered if he felt the same way.

"Come on, Tigh, your head's on Ragnar today. What's up?"

Saul shrugged, feeling his face grow hot over being caught lost in his thoughts. "Nothing. Just thinking."

Bill gave a snort of laughter. "That's dangerous." They swung a corner, heading aft.

"Nah," said Saul, "I feel frakking fantastic." He turned so he was jogging backwards, facing Bill. " _Because_ —" He grinned. "Once we get done with this patrol to Picon—"

"Two weeks of shore leave," Bill finished his sentence. "Got the confirmation yesterday when I dropped by post. Rental reservation's in; we've got ourselves a cabin."

Saul made an appreciative noise. "Those connections again? Didn't think we'd get something that time of—oof." He'd run into somebody. They both stopped to see who it was.

"Will you watch where you're going?" Lyle Mueller scowled at Saul, looking as though he'd like nothing more than to chuck him out the nearest airlock. This was something of an improvement, as the major usually looked like he'd like to shoot Saul between the eyes.

"Sorry, Major." Saul gave Mueller an apologetic smirk.

"About face, Captain," said Bill, with mock sternness.

"Yes, sir," said Saul stiffly, turning on his heel. He gave Mueller a crisp salute, which wasn't returned, as the younger man stalked off, no doubt looking for some rooks to take his frustrations out on. Bill and Saul exchanged glances and began running once more.

When they were out of earshot, Saul rolled his eyes and snorted. Even Bill had trouble hiding his grin.

"See? Even the CAG's not going to get me down today."

"That's good," Bill observed. "Nice to see you looking up."

"I wish you wouldn't humor him, though."

"I have to be impartial," said Bill, as they headed down the stairs to the hangar deck.

"That's _right_ ," said Saul, as if he'd forgotten. "You're the _XO_. Big man. Not supposed to play favorites. What was the rest of that little speech you gave me, Bill?"

Bill rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "That was not to call me Bill while we're on duty. Three laps today, I think. For cheek."

Saul snickered and pulled ahead of him, forcing his friend to quicken his pace to catch up. "I'm telling you, Bill. Can't bring me down today."

"You say something like that, you'll jinx us," said Bill, laughing.

Saul snorted. "Guess that's my job, then."

Bill rolled his eyes. "Forget I said anything."

"Good morning, Colonel. Captain." Bill and Saul slowed to a halt in front of where Chief Randall was standing.

"'Morning, Chief," said Bill. "How's everything going down here?"

Randall tugged on the end of her plait and looked around at the stirrings of activity around her. "I want to send a team up to the port landing bay. I can't wait until this crop of rooks masters hands-on landings."

"You and me, both," said Saul. "You need me for any of that?"

"No, I've got it," she said, grinning. "But there's a pallet of unlogged cargo with your name on it, sir."

Saul grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. "I'll get to it."

"We should get to work," said Bill, dropping to the deck and beginning his cool-down stretches. Reluctantly, Saul joined him.

Randall stayed nearby, hands on her hips. "Also wanted to let you know, Colonel, I imagine the political stuff's going to be heating up a bit down here. I'm keeping an eye on it but I wanted to let you know in case it got out of hand."

"I'll let Commander Brandon know," said Bill, nodding.

"Political stuff?" Saul asked.

"The election?" asked Bill. "It's kind of a big deal."

"Oh, the quorum election?" Saul shrugged. "I'd forgotten about that. You ask me, all politicians are corrupt."

"You're probably right," said Bill. "Can't say I'm that inspired by anybody. Voting while in space is going to be annoying, though."

"It's still three weeks away, sir," said Randall. "There's still time to corral everybody by then."

"We'll certainly see," said Bill, hauling himself to his feet. The three of them exchanged salutes. As Bill and Saul left for the showers, Saul leaned over and hissed in his friend's ear, "Can't we go one election without things getting out of hand?"

"This time, it's separatists," said Bill, doing little to mask his feelings. "From some of the outer colonies—Aerilon, especially." He looked at Saul, as if gauging his reaction.

Saul shrugged. "You hear about those every couple of years. Back when I was a kid, before the war, people used to talk about some of the other colonies and how they were supposed to be _oppressing_ us. What's good for Caprica is bad for Aerilon, my dad used to say. But they still signed the Articles of Colonization when the Cylons were breathing down their neck. Can't say I notice it much now, not that I'm an expert."

"All the colonies have their problems," said Bill. "Some more visible than others."

"Yeah, and there's not much I can do about that, is there? Just trying to live my life. If I was a smart guy, maybe I'd be some great reformer, but..." He shook his head. "I'm me."

Bill gave him a pat on the shoulder. "I hear you. We've got enough problems. Like we're gonna be late for work." He gave Saul a playful shove toward the officers' head and turned in the direction of his own quarters.

Saul grinned. "It'd save time if you'd let me share with you!"

Bill made a rude gesture over his shoulder and Saul pushed the hatch open, laughing to himself.

**

One long, hot shower later and Saul was (somewhat) ready to face the mountain of cargo they'd taken on at the base on Gemenon.

"What do you think they _have_ civilian transport for?" he asked, grabbing the overstuffed clipboard from the top of the stack of boxes.

"When I was coming from training, I heard a couple officers talking about pirates," said James Kinney from over to his left. Ratchet was a brand-new pilot just graduated, and he didn't look the part at all, Saul thought.

"That's what the civilian dock rats told me, too," Lucy McAllister added, sitting down next to her ECO. She put her feet up on one of Saul's boxes. "I told them my Raptor is not a tractor trailer."

Saul snorted and began paging through the itemized list. "Bet that went over well."

Lucy grinned, a mischievous spark in her eyes. "No, but it reminded me why I like to spend as little time as possible on solid ground, isn't that right, Ratch?"

"Yeah," he said, though it didn't look like he believed it.

Saul didn't say anything more, but he agreed with the sentiment. He still sometimes marveled at how lucky he was that Bill had gotten him reinstated. Some mornings, he expected to wake up to find out it had been a dream, or a joke. Things had gotten pretty bleak during the time between Bill's and Saul's re-commissionings and he didn't want to revisit that anytime soon.

"Where's all this need to go, Captain?"

Saul turned to the person who'd come up behind him, a skinny deckhand with big ears. "This stuff is just cargo," he said, indicating the pile of boxes with his clipboard. "Get a trolley and stick it in the starboard hold. The rest of this stuff," he paused to check labels, "gets delivered to whoever it says right there."

The kid saluted—Saul really appreciated that—and grabbed a box and heaved it onto the trolley. Saul went back to work and shortly found himself lost in the world of coffee beans and toilet paper.

He took a few steps backward, checking things off on the list, when he felt himself run into something solid.

"Damn it, Tigh! Watch where the frak you're going."

Saul groaned. To run into the same guy twice in as many hours was just...

"Sorry, sir," he said, clicking his pen several times and watching Major Mueller's ire rise. "I'm just logging this cargo."

Mueller gave the boxes a sidelong glance. "Well, get rid of this stuff. You're blocking a launch tube."

"I'm working on it, sir." Saul gritted his teeth.

Mueller gave him a long, hard look, then turned to Ratchet and Lucy.

"On your feet, Lieutenants," he snapped. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Saul rolled his eyes and dropped to his knees to check the serial number stamped on one of the boxes.

This part was tedious, but Saul couldn't say he disliked his job. He knew when he'd been transferred to _Columbia_ that it would be as Landing Signal Officer and not as a pilot. _Columbia_ had needed one, and Saul had wanted to stay near Bill.

He missed flying, of course, but he also liked the feeling of being in charge of at least something, even if it put him in conflict with Mueller.

He'd feel more in control if he didn't have Mueller breathing down his neck, though. Saul tried not to look in his direction, but he could feel Mueller's eyes on him. He wanted to yell that he was perfectly capable of doing his job, that the commander and the XO both trusted him, but he had to keep his composure. Bill would want him to keep his composure. Saul clicked his pen furiously.

"That it, Captain?" It was the deckhand from before—Saul had to learn his name.

"Yeah," said Saul, twirling his pen between his fingers.

"Need me to drop those papers off with the XO?"

"Nah." Saul tucked the clipboard under his arm. "I'll do it."

Bill wasn't in his quarters and Saul tramped through a number of hallways before he finally found him near the mess.

"You're a hard man to track down," said Saul, shoving the papers under his nose. "Sign here, please."

"What happened to your good mood?" Bill asked, taking Saul's pen and dashing off a quick signature.

"Frakking Mueller," Saul muttered, taking the pen back and twirling it irritably between his fingers.

Bill chuckled. "Having to do that would put anyone in a bad mood."

"You know what I mean," Saul snapped.

"You can't let him get to you like this," said Bill sensibly. "He's just trying to rile you up."

"Well, it worked," said Saul. He dropped the pen and swore.

"Deep breaths."

Saul shot him a death glare.

Bill gave him a rough pat on the shoulder. "Come on. You all right?"

"I'll be all right," said Saul. He crossed his arms over his chest. "You busy right now?"

"Oh, no," said Bill, recognizing that look in his eyes. "We're on duty."

"Just a minute," said Saul, jerking his head towards the storage locker next to them. "Or I'll go frak Mueller."

Saul grinned as he watched Bill's composure waver. Taking a look up and down the hallway, Bill opened the door and yanked him in.

Saul had to admit that, despite some of the crap he'd had to face in life, he was stupidly lucky. He'd stumbled blindly upon the best friend a guy could ask for, who'd gotten him a good job, and who also enjoyed joining Saul in other, non-work-related activities. And that was good, because Saul's job could be boring and Bill made things a lot more interesting.

Bill dropped his papers and grabbed Saul by the shoulders. "Gods, you're tense," he muttered, kneading the stiff muscles. He kissed Saul forcefully, his hands scrabbling at his buttons, shoving Saul's jacket off his shoulders.

"Remember that," said Saul, hooking an arm around Bill's neck. "Don't abuse your command authority. Makes people tense."

Bill didn't respond, which didn't bother Saul much. He definitely preferred that Bill's mouth be doing other things right now.

"I told Brandon I'd meet him in fifteen minutes," said Bill, pausing.

"So we've got fifteen minutes," said Saul, tangling his fingers in Bill's hair a little insistently. "I'll take fifteen minutes."

Bill looked up at Saul, as though he were about to say something, when the explosion knocked them off their feet.

  
[On to Chapter Two](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/866.html)   


  



	2. Chapter 2

_  
**Smoke and Mirrors 2/16**   
_   
[Back to Chapter One](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/763.html)

  
Saul opened his eyes and blinked several times. It took him a moment to remember why he was lying on the cold floor of a closet full of cleaning supplies, his pants down around his ankles.

Bill was crouching over him, a very concerned look on his face. "You all right?"

Saul blinked again. "Yeah, I think so."

"You hit your head," said Bill.

Saul sat up slowly, rubbing the top of his head. He could feel a lump forming.

"I'm okay," he said, accepting Bill's help up. "What the hell was that?"

Bill pursed his lips. "I don't know," he said. They were both silent for a moment; Saul could hear the sound of shouting in the distance.

"We better go." Saul fumbled with his belt, trying not to let the panic overtake him. It was probably nothing. But he couldn't help that his first thought when there was that awful, familiar feeling of an explosion aboard a battlestar was that it was the Cylons. He knew Bill was thinking it, too, because his hand went to his sidearm.

"Where's it coming from?" Saul wondered aloud as they stepped out into the hallway. If anyone noticed that they had just emerged from a closet, no one questioned them. People were running left and right, but no one was looking at Saul and Bill.

Bill grabbed a passing crewman by the arm. "What's going on?" he asked him.

"Don't know, sir. Heard there was a fire on the port hangar deck."

Bill didn't even wait for him to finish speaking. He took off running with Saul at his heels. Saul knew the corridors well, as this was much the same route they ran every morning, but the current situation had an air of panic that made him sure he'd get lost if he wasn't following Bill. They were stopped on the stairs in the port flight pod by clouds of thick, black smoke.

"What happened?" Bill shouted.

Chief Randall appeared at his elbow, fighting her way through the crowd, half of whom were trying to leave and half of whom were trying to get in to fight the fire. "Don't know, sir. It just seemed like the whole side of the ship blew. It's a miracle we're not venting into space."

"You had men on the landing bay. What about them?" asked Saul, remembering her comment from earlier that morning.

Randall's face clouded and she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "I don't think..."

Bill jabbed a finger at Saul. "Get to CiC. If comms are down, the commander needs to know about this."

Saul was off without a second word. Call him a coward, but he'd have done anything rather than stand around in the smoke, the stink of burning oil searing his nostrils. It reminded him of the war and it made his stomach turn.

He barely thought about where he was going as he ran; his only focus was getting to CiC and letting Commander Brandon take care of things. He trusted Bill and he trusted Brandon, and he was glad they were in charge—Saul sure as hell wouldn't have known what to do.

Saul didn't spend a lot of time in CiC, so when he entered, he was distracted for a moment by the flashing lights and blaring alarms. His textbook training told him it was normal for the situation, but for a second, he froze.

"Captain, I hope you can tell me what exactly is going on."

Saul hadn't even realized Brandon was speaking to him. He saluted quickly, trying to keep the older man's gaze, however intimidated he was. "I'm not sure, sir. There seems to be a fire on the port side hangar deck. We don't know the cause, but Colonel Adama felt you should be informed of the situation ASAP."

"He's down there?"

Saul nodded.

"Good." Brandon turned away from Saul, addressing his remarks to the CiC at large. "We're going to condition one until we figure out what caused this. Captain, get down to the starboard hangar deck. I want a Raptor assessing the damage from the outside."

"Yes, sir." Saul saluted and was gone without a second word, the adrenaline rush kicking in again, carrying him to his destination. It was easier just to run and do his job and not think about it, not think about the men who'd been hurt or killed, or what this could mean. It had been almost twenty years since that sudden armistice and Saul had always feared in the back of his mind that the Cylons might come back. If that was what this was, he didn't know what he'd do.

The starboard flight pod was almost deserted. Everyone seemed to be on the other side of the ship, either doing damage control or gawking. Thus, Saul was feeling frazzled by the time he was able to get enough of a crew together to get that Raptor in the air and out looking at the damage.

" _Columbia_ , am I clear?"

Lucy's voice over the radio shook Saul out of his reverie. He reached up to adjust his headset. "Affirmative, Bubbles. You're clear."

"Lifting off. Patch me in to CiC?"

"Yeah." Saul tapped a button on the console and his audio cut out. Sighing, he leaned back in his chair. All that was left was the waiting.

**

Bill found Saul a couple hours later, sitting in the LSO's station, arms crossed over his chest.

"You've looked better," he said, when he spotted Bill.

Bill snorted and wiped the soot from his face. "You can talk. You're the only guy I know who can smash his head open and forget about it."

Saul reached up and rubbed the sore spot on top of his head. "I'll live," he said calmly. Bill knew he couldn't be in too much pain or he'd have said something, but there was clearly something bothering him.

"Do we know what caused this?" he asked, his face suddenly serious. "Lucy didn't say anything when they got back."

Bill sat down in the other chair and rubbed his eyes, blinking against the dirt on his hands. "It was a bomb. A big one. It was in one of the launch tubes. Chief was right; we're lucky that side of the ship didn't vent. The port landing bay's a total loss though. No survivors, and we can't retract the flight pod unless we want that side of the ship to buckle. We're going to have to get to Scorpia at sublight speed. We can't jump or we risk grave structural damage."

"Frak," muttered Saul, looking at his outstretched feet.

"Brandon was in contact with HQ. Those were their orders." He paused. "It'll give us time for an internal investigation."

"Internal investigation," Saul repeated.

"It was someone on _Columbia_ ," said Bill. "Somebody brought it on board; somebody put it there and set it to go off."

"Oh gods." Saul rubbed his face. "There could be more."

"There's a twenty-four hour guard on the armory and we've increased marine patrols."

Saul bit his lip. For a moment, Bill thought he was going to say something else, but he didn't. Bill stood.

"Brandon's calling a senior staff meeting for 1700. He wants you there."

"Sure." Saul got to his feet and began buttoning his jacket.

They didn't say much on the way to Commander Brandon's quarters. Bill was too tired to; he'd spent most of the day assessing damage and ordering people around. Despite that, he was worried about Saul, who normally should have been more talkative than this.

When they got there, Brandon and Major Mueller were waiting for them. Saul didn't even shoot Bill a look when Mueller muttered something under his breath, but it was only after Bill had taken a seat next to Brandon's desk that he realized there were only two chairs. Saul remained standing, smack in front of Brandon's desk.

"Have there been any more developments?" Bill asked.

Brandon shook his head. "No. I assume you apprised Captain Tigh of the situation."

"Yes, sir."

Brandon looked directly at Saul. "Captain, do you have any idea how this may have happened?"

Saul straightened up, put his hands behind his back. "Beg your pardon, sir?"

"Did you make a full log of all the cargo brought on board at Gemenon?"

"Yes, sir, I did. I gave it to B—Colonel Adama."

Brandon turned to Bill, and with a sinking feeling, Bill remembered that he'd left the papers... somewhere. Maybe back in that stupid closet, or maybe they'd just gotten lost in the shuffle. "I'm sorry, sir, I must have mislaid them."

"Do you have another copy on you, Captain?" asked Mueller.

"No, I don't," said Saul, beginning to sound aggravated. "What do you think, I wrote _bomb_ on there, right under _soap_?"

Brandon took a deep breath, seeming to compose his thoughts. "It occurred to me, and the Master-at-Arms agrees that it's possible, if not likely, that this is related to a separatist movement."

"That makes sense," said Saul. "Election's coming up."

"You're from Aerilon, aren't you, Tigh?" Mueller asked.

"Yeah," said Saul, narrowing his eyes. "And I haven't set foot there since I was fifteen."

"Still keep in touch with family? Friends?" Bill wished Mueller would just shut up.

Saul's jaw tightened. "My family _died_. Six months after I joined up, the Cylons wiped out our whole village. Every soul I ever knew, dead. You're not old enough to remember, _sir_ , but it'll be in my service record."

"Captain, where were you at the time of the bombing?" said Brandon bluntly.

Saul flicked his eyes at Bill. There was a hint of panic in them. "Sir, am I—"

"Just answer the question," said Bill quietly. He just wanted Saul to keep calm. He didn't like where this was going, but he also couldn't say he was surprised.

Saul rolled his shoulders back. "I was with Colonel Adama. I'd just given him my cargo log."

"I can vouch for him," said Bill, a little too quickly, he realized when he saw Mueller's raised eyebrow.

"And immediately before?" Brandon pressed.

Saul's posture slumped a little. "The port hangar deck. Like I said, sir, I was logging cargo. _Major Mueller_ was there; he saw me."

Brandon's gaze shifted to Mueller.

"I did see him at one point," said Mueller. "But I can't say I had my eyes on him the entire time. I was checking with Chief Randall about a work order I'd filed."

Saul twitched. "I was talking to someone the whole time. If not him, then there was Bubbles and Ratchet."

Bill cut in. "Sir, is this a formal inquiry?"

"No," said Brandon calmly. "No one's formally under suspicion yet." Saul rolled his eyes and Bill was glad Brandon wasn't looking at him. "I do think it would be wise to take some... precautions." He turned back to Saul, who instantly stiffened. "Captain, may I have your service weapon and your restricted-access keys?"

"Sir?"

"Captain, you're not under arrest." Brandon took a deep breath. "I just want to make you aware of how this looks. The man who's in control of what comes into or goes out of the ship is from one of these colonies—"

"If I may, sir, I—"

"No one knows who planted the bomb. Chief Randall herself admits that you didn't log that cargo for days after it arrived on board, and you just happened to pick today. You had means and opportunity. You were down there all morning and you made sure to be nowhere near the hangar deck when the bomb went off."

Saul curled his right hand into a fist, but he reached for his weapon and laid it on the desk. "May I inquire as to my status?"

"I'm putting you on suspension until this is all sorted out. I hope you understand that it's perhaps better to tighten security." Brandon accepted Saul's keys, putting them and Saul's gun into the bottom drawer of his desk. "You and Major Mueller are both dismissed."

Saul turned on his heel and stalked toward the door without even saluting. Bill wanted to run after him, but he had to talk to Brandon.

"Sir," he said quietly, when Mueller had taken his leave. "I have to say... I don't know about this."

"I know," said Brandon slowly. He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Don't think I'm disregarding your advice because you've only been here a few months. I know he's your friend and he's certainly going to be considered innocent until proven guilty. I'd just like to be doing something. I want to do anything I can to prevent a second attack."

"But if Captain Tigh isn't responsible, don't you think that just creates a false sense of security?"

"I'm endeavoring not to let that happen. There will be a full investigation." He sighed, leaning back in his chair, studying the photographs on his desk. "I've read up on you. I hope you understand my viewpoint in not tolerating acts of terrorism."

"I do, sir," said Bill. "I just worry about acting too quickly."

"You're a good officer, Adama, but you're young. I have every hope that you'll have your own command one day, and when you do, you'll find that you have to take chances. I didn't get where I am by taking the easy way out. I know he's your friend, believe me. I'm just saying how it looks. Sometimes you have to roll the hard six."

Bill nodded, though he wasn't sure if he understood. Why was taking a chance on charging a potentially innocent man a good thing to do?

Damn! _Potentially_ innocent? He knew Saul was innocent! But, then again…

Doubt was a very ugly feeling, but he couldn't help wondering. He'd been busy lately, with his new job, and he hadn't been spending every waking moment with Saul, like he'd been able to do when he'd been Bill's right-hand pilot on _Atlantia_. Was it that shocking for Saul to have something on the side?

"You're excused," said Brandon, seeming to notice his distress. "Thanks for all you did today. You did good work."

  
[On to Chapter Three](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/1033.html)   


  



	3. Smoke and Mirrors 3/16

_  
**Smoke and Mirrors 3/16**   
_   
[Back to Chapter Two](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/866.html)

  
Bill thanked Brandon and excused himself. He was surprised to run into Saul outside. He'd been waiting all that time, leaning against the bulkhead, arms crossed defiantly across his chest.

"How're you doing?" Bill asked.

Saul snorted. "How do you frakking _think_ I'm doing?"

Bill could tell this could use some work. He nodded in the direction of his own quarters. "Want to join me for a drink?"

Saul didn't answer; he just headed off in the direction Bill had indicated. When they got to Bill's sparsely-furnished room, Saul dropped into Bill's desk chair and unbuttoned his jacket. "Just kill me now," he muttered.

Bill filled a glass from the decanter on his desk and pressed it into Saul's hand. "Chin up," he said, trying to be reassuring, while also trying to forget what Brandon had planted in his mind. "We're just trying to be absolutely sure. It's a precaution."

Saul downed half the contents of his glass. "We? Bill, you don't believe him, do you?"

Bill leaned against the corner of his desk and stared into his glass.

"Oh, frakking hell," Saul muttered. "You think I'm a godsdamn terrorist."

"I don't!" Bill protested. "I'm just saying I can see how Brandon—" He trailed off, suddenly feeling a lot less confident than Brandon had made him feel.

Saul looked up at him, his eyes set in anger. "Say it, Bill. Say you think I didn't do it."

Bill sighed. "You were the one in charge of the cargo. It wouldn't have been hard."

"You know I don't give a frak about politics. Tell Brandon that. Tell him I don't give two shits what happens to Aerilon."

"It doesn't have to be that. It could have been money, they could have paid you."

"Do you _think_ I'd do that?"

"Did I say I did?"

Saul got to his feet and leaned in close to Bill, his eyes narrowed. "You're saying something."

Bill frowned. "Get out of my face, Saul. I'm on your side."

Saul didn't say anything, but he did step back several paces.

Bill took a swig from his glass and put it down on the desk. "I'm on your side," he repeated. "So, be honest with me, Saul. If there's _anything_ —anything at all—about your involvement... tell me now."

Saul opened his mouth to say something but Bill held up his hand.

"I'm not saying you threw the bomb in there and detonated it. I'm saying if... if someone slipped you a few cubits to look the other way on something, if... if you gave someone something, if... you moved something... anything. You can tell me. I don't care."

As soon as he'd said it, Bill instantly regretted it. Saul's whole body went rigid. Bill half-expected to find a fist in his jaw.

"Colonel," said Saul stiffly. His eyes seemed very dark. He squared his shoulders and straightened his back. The way he was staring stolidly forward was almost worse than if he'd yelled and punched Bill.

"Saul," Bill began. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." He took a step forward. "Just tell me what happened down there."

"I logged the cargo," said Saul, his tone clipped. "I gave you the full report. I didn't observe any suspicious activity on the port hangar deck this morning."

"Saul, I know that. I—"

"Is that all, sir? May I be excused, sir?"

Bill sighed and shook his head. "Yeah. Go. I'll see you later."

Saul saluted stiffly and Bill waved him off. When he heard the hatch click, he slid into his desk chair and downed first the rest of Saul's drink and then his own.

**

Saul stormed through the halls of the ship, too angry to even pay attention to the people who were staring at him. People would obviously want to know why he was coming out of the XO's quarters so worked up, but he hoped they didn't know about his suspension yet.

People tended to get supposititious when they were facing tough stuff and even though Saul liked to think of himself as a rational person, he was beginning to wonder if he really wasn't bad luck. Bill would say he was being stupid, but Bill also thought he was a terrorist, so what did he know?

Saul headed for his rack without thinking about it, threw himself down and stared first at his pillow and then at the underside of Plummer's rack above him. He tried to sleep for a little bit, but all he could think about was the men who had died. He felt like he could still smell the acrid scent of smoke clinging to his body. Aware that people were staring, he got up and wordlessly headed to the bathroom.

The cold water from the shower woke him up even more, but at this point, he didn't care about going back to sleep. He knew he hadn't done anything wrong, but he still felt unclean. He lost track of how long he stayed under the freezing spray, but it was a while before he was standing before a mirror, studying his reflection under the glare of the fluorescent lights. He skin was red where he'd scrubbed it and the only sounds in the deserted room were the hum of the fluorescent lights and the steady drip of water from the ends of his hair.

"You're pretty stupid," he told the man in the mirror. "Anybody knows you're innocent, it's you."

Bloodshot eyes stared unblinkingly back at him. _Yeah, but if you'd done your job right, you could have prevented it. Still a jinx._

Not for the first time, Saul cursed the flight instructor at officer training who'd given him the nickname. The skinny young nugget who'd survived the destruction of two ships in five years had been a curiosity to the group of officers stationed safe on Picon, far from hard combat. Saul had worn it as a badge of honor at the time, and had started to believe it when, as a pilot, he'd added to his lost-battlestar count by three. He'd endured plenty of combat ribbing to be sure, but he'd never thought anybody actually _believed_ he was bad luck. Nobody except him, as he got older and started to notice it still seemed to follow him, even when he no longer flew a plane with it painted on the side.

This was the kind of moment where Saul wanted Bill to come in, reassure him, lead him off to bed. But he knew that wasn't coming. Bill said he was on his side, but Saul remembered the doubt in his eyes, like he'd never seen before. He didn't want to face Bill and have that doubt be confirmed. He knew there had to be a breaking point, something beyond which Bill would no longer put up with him.

Glumly, Saul dressed and headed back to quarters. He'd have to find something to occupy his evening, since he sure wasn't sleeping. He began to feel that itch again. He knew it was bad, knew it was wrong, but he also knew he'd feel better. It was cheap booze that he'd bought on Gemenon, but it wasn't long before he didn't care about the taste.

**

When Bill woke, he was surprised at first that Saul wasn't there. He wondered why he'd gone, but then, it came back. It was only after that realization that Bill realized the phone had woken him. Groggily, he reached for it and brought it to his ear without lifting his head. "XO."

"Sir?"

Bill yawned. "What is it, Chief?" He leaned over, trying to check the time. He'd been asleep for two hours.

"I think you should probably come down here, sir. We have a... situation."

Bill sat up. "What kind?" he asked sharply.

"Oh," she said, sounding apologetic, as if she'd just realized what it sounded like she meant. "It's Captain Tigh. I think he's... well... I heard about his suspension. I don't think he's taking it well."

Bill rubbed his eyes. "He all right?"

"You should come down, sir. He's... not himself."

"All right." Bill stood. "I'll be right there. Keep an eye on him."

"Will do, sir."

Bill found Saul on the starboard hangar deck, where everything had been hastily moved after the bombing. It was overcrowded with spacecraft and equipment, but it didn't take Bill long to locate his friend.

Saul was sitting cross-legged on the wing of a Viper, an almost-empty bottle clutched in his hand. Bill noted with a sinking feeling that it was Major Mueller's bird. Chief Randall was waiting for him a few feet away.

"I'm sorry to call you down here, sir," she said apologetically. "But he won't come down. I just thought... maybe he'd listen to you."

Bill sighed inwardly. "I can take it from here, Chief."

She eyed him warily before turning on her heel and snapping at a few stragglers. "Okay, you heard the man. Come on, let's give 'em some space."

The gawkers did move, but not very far.

"Come on down, Saul," said Bill quietly.

"You come up here." Saul gestured at Bill with the bottle. He had that mulish look in his eyes that Bill knew meant it would be easier not to argue.

He sighed and hauled himself up onto the wing of the Viper. "CAG's gonna be pissed if you mess up his bird."

"Frak the CAG," Saul muttered, taking a swig. "He hates me anyway."

Bill couldn't argue with that. "At least you don't have to fly under him," he offered.

Saul snorted.

"You're good at what you do, Saul. I wouldn't have recommended you for this job if I didn't think you could handle it."

Saul shrugged. "Obviously you were wrong." He drained the bottle and dropped it. It shattered on the floor below them, making Bill jump. "You think I did it."

Bill sighed. "I don't. Look, Saul, I'm sorry about what I said, all right? I didn't mean it that way."

Saul looked mutinous.

"I promise," said Bill. "I'll tell Brandon I'm positive you weren't involved."

Saul sighed. "Tell him all you want, Bill. Doesn't change that I frakked up big time."

"You made a mistake," said Bill, patting Saul on the knee. "You're only human."

"I'm bad luck is what I am."

"You going to blame a nickname from twenty years ago for what happened today?"

"Yep."

Bill rolled his eyes. There were moments where he wondered what he saw in Saul. "Come on. Let's get you in bed." He wrapped an arm around Saul's shoulders and maneuvered them toward the edge of the wing.

"You propositioning me?" Saul asked.

"Shut up," Bill muttered, pushing them both off the edge together.

Saul didn't come close to sticking the landing on the hangar deck. He stumbled, knocking them both to the ground. "Ow," he said, sounding surprised.

Bill yanked him to his feet. "I have no sympathy for your bruised ego. You nearly got me an assful of broken glass."

Saul grinned stupidly. "I like your ass the way it is."

Bill sighed. "I'm sure you do."

It took a long time to get Saul over to his quarters. He could barely walk, even with Bill holding him up and he kept laughing to himself.

When they passed Bill's quarters, he looked disappointed. "We can't do it in my bed, Bill... people'll _see_ us."

"Keep it down," said Bill sharply.

Saul seemed to interpret this as instructions to shout. "'Cause I'm frakkin' the XO."

"Shut up." Bill clapped a hand over Saul's mouth.

Bill managed to open the hatch to the officers' quarters one-handed and dragged a snickering Saul inside. Shoving him into his rack, he knelt and lifted Saul's uncooperative legs into bed.

"What the frak is going on?" someone muttered sleepily.

"Go back to sleep, Fallon," said Bill sharply, struggling to untie Saul's boots while Saul was trying to pull Bill into bed with him.

There was a snort of derision, but then the room fell silent. Bill was well aware that everyone was awake and trying to hide it. He held back a sigh. The last thing he needed was rumors being spread.

"G'night, Bill," slurred Saul loudly.

"Good night, Saul," he said and yanked Saul's curtain closed.

**

His dreams were fractured and nonsensical. He was climbing a ladder, which kept shifting beneath his weight. He tried to cry out that he'd fall, but every time he felt himself tilting too much, he'd find his balance again. It was a stupid dream, since he wasn't afraid of heights—he was a frakking Viper pilot for gods' sakes—but the sensation of vertigo felt icily familiar.

Even as he dragged himself higher, he knew he was going to fall. And when he did, it was down, down into the hot, steamy jungles very like where he'd imagined his father had died. He'd had this dream before, he thought, the feeling of looking for something he couldn't find. He'd once read that dreams were the way in which the computer that was the brain processed what it experienced while it was awake.

Saul never remembered his dreams.

  
[On to Chapter Four](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/1378.html)   
  



	4. Smoke and Mirrors 4/16

_  
**Smoke and Mirrors 4/16**   
_   
[Back to Chapter Three](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/1033.html)

  
Saul woke on the first day of his suspension with a throbbing headache. At the sound of reveille, the others stirred but Saul lay still behind his drawn curtain. No point in getting up. He rolled over and clapped his pillow over his head to block out the noise.

"Frak," he muttered. He screwed his eyes shut, willing himself to go back to sleep. He wasn't ready to get up and face the day, wondered if he'd ever be ready.

He was awakened again by someone yanking aside the curtain on his rack.

"Go 'way," he mumbled.

"You didn't show up for our morning run," said Bill. "Just because you're off duty doesn't mean I'm going to let you stay in bed all day."

Saul opened one eye and lifted the pillow off his face. "I'm not off duty," he spat. "I'm _suspended_."

Bill ignored him. He opened Saul's locker and began digging through it. "You're a slob. No wonder you can never find anything."

"What are you, my wife?" Saul rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"Worse," said Bill. "Here." He threw Saul's running shoes at him. "On your feet, Captain.

Saul muttered in protest but he did sit up and began fumbling with the laces. Bill sighed and knelt in front of him, quickly untying the other shoe and forcing Saul's foot into it. "You're one sorry motherfrakker," he told him.

Saul just yawned.

**

Bill purposefully went easy on him but he still noticed him struggling to keep up. Usually when he was hung over, a run got Saul back on his feet, but this time, he was breathing hard after the first set of stairs.

Bill let him hit the showers after just half of their usual course. He told him to report to his quarters by 0800, hoping he'd show up in uniform, but instead, when Saul knocked on Bill's door at 0820, he was dressed in jeans and a faded gray C-Buccs T-shirt.

"Want something to drink?" asked Bill.

"Hair of the dog?" Saul asked hopefully.

"Coffee," clarified Bill, handing him a steaming cup.

Saul groaned and dropped onto the couch, but he accepted the coffee. They sat in silence until they had both drained their cups. Bill watched Saul, studying him. He was worried about him, hoped Saul hadn't lost the will to fight. He remembered the low points from before, when they'd been on the freighter and, especially after Bill had been reinstated. He'd tried to look out for Saul but sometimes it had been hard keeping him from running into the ground. Bill wished there was more he could do that wouldn't look too much like plain old-fashioned favoritism.

"I don't want to get stuck back on that freighter, Bill," Saul said suddenly.

Bill was startled. He didn't think Saul planned to say anything. "You won't," he said reassuringly. "They can't prove anything. This isn't formal. You'll be all right."

"Happened on my watch," Saul muttered, sliding down in his seat. "Who'll want to hire a high-school dropout with a dishonorable discharge from the Colonial Fleet? If I don't end up doing time."

Bill set his cup on the table next to Saul's. "You are not going to get discharged, Saul. And you are _not_ going to prison."

"Why do you hang around with me, Bill? 'M only dragging you down."

"You're not," he said quietly.

"Think you'd have your own battlestar by now if it weren't for me?"

"No." Bill clapped a hand on Saul's knee. "I'm glad I don't have my own battlestar yet. When I do, I want you on it."

"I suppose you'll always need somebody to bring you coffee."

"Sure." Bill hugged him tight. "That's why we need to keep you in this thing. So when I'm a bigshot, you can bring me coffee." He felt Saul's arms come up to return the embrace, albeit weakly. After a moment, Bill pulled back. "I gotta go to work," he told him.

He expected being abandoned to deepen Saul's funk, but instead, he grinned. "I'll be right here when you get back." He kicked off his sneakers and put his feet up on the table. "I might take a nap. Your couch is more comfortable than my rack."

"I'm going to find something for you to do." Bill scanned his quarters, his eyes falling on his desk, which was covered with papers. "You can sort through those." He headed for the door.

"What?" Saul leapt to his feet. "I'm not your frakking secretary."

"If we're not careful, you might be," Bill muttered before shutting the hatch behind him.

**

When Bill got to CiC, he was half-expecting Commander Brandon to somehow know where Saul was, but he convinced himself he couldn't. At least, he was reasonably sure Brandon couldn't read minds. Plus, it wasn't like he'd been told not to talk to Saul. He could talk to Saul all he wanted.

Brandon regarded Bill over the central console. "Everything all right, Colonel?"

"Yes, sir," said Bill, nodding. "I was just wondering if the increased security will have an effect." He eyed the marines who were now stationed in CiC. It was like that throughout the ship and personally, Bill was relieved that they weren't having Saul tailed.

"That's what I'm hoping," said Brandon. "I want to do everything I can to ensure something like this doesn't happen again, especially in light of the loss of life."

"Have you thought about a memorial, sir?" Bill asked.

Brandon nodded. "I think it's best we take care of that in the next day or so, before we go through the asteroid field."

"Asteroid field?"

"Lieutenant Clark has plotted us the most efficient course to the Scorpia shipyards, taking into consideration our level of damage and the fact that if we run into trouble, we wouldn't be able to make an FTL jump, due to the damage done in the bombing. Lieutenant Clark assures me that this is the best choice for this time of year."

Bill looked over Brandon's shoulder at Clark, seated at his station. _Stop it_ , he told himself. _You're just being paranoid. You want to stick this on anyone but Saul._ Despite this, Bill couldn't help thinking Clark looked suspicious.

Bill found it hard to focus. He should have been glad things were quiet, but now, he wasn't sure what to focus _on_.

He cleared his throat. "How long until we get to that asteroid field?"

"We should get there in a day or so, sir," Clark piped up, turning away from his screen.

"Then we'll have that memorial this evening," said Brandon. "Lieutenant Clark?"

"I'll get right on that, sir."

Bill leaned in closer. "What about the investigation?"

"I've spoken to the master-at-arms. It falls under Sergeant Carson's jurisdiction, and I've asked Major Mueller to assist him."

 _Saul'll love that_ , thought Bill. He debated saying something, and his desire to stick up for his friend outweighed his desire to make a good impression on Brandon. After all, it was in his job description as XO to speak up when he thought his commander was wrong. "Do you know if they've found anything yet?" he asked.

Brandon didn't answer. He surveyed CiC, before finally saying, "May I have a word with you in private, Adama?"

"Of course, sir," said Bill.

Brandon nodded. "Mr. Clark," he said, nodding curtly. "You have the deck."

Bill hated following Brandon and forced himself to walk side-by-side with the older man. He knew Brandon was a good commander—he'd heard some things about him before being assigned to his ship and he'd apparently requested Bill as his new XO. He'd also never expressed anything against Saul in the past, though they hadn't discussed him at length, beyond Bill having wanted to bring Saul with him to _Columbia_.

He was suddenly very aware that this didn't look good. He should stick up for his friend.

When they reached Brandon's quarters, he ushered Bill over to the couch. This was new. "Can I get you anything, Colonel?" Brandon asked, his hands behind his back.

Bill shook his head quickly. "No thank you, sir." He was surreptitiously taking in Brandon's living quarters. He'd never been back here before. Three months ago, when Bill had first arrived, he'd reported to Brandon at his desk, with Brandon sitting and Bill standing. Bill had only started sitting six weeks ago, when a chair had suddenly appeared in front of Brandon's desk.

His quarters were comfortably decorated and Bill realized he didn't know much about Brandon's personal life. He was from Virgon, if the flag above the bookshelf was any indication. And there were a lot of books. Several bookshelves were lined up against the wall, and there were still more books and magazines stacked by Brandon's bed. The one at the top, Bill noticed, was a historical novel by an author Bill's father liked.

There were also a lot of photographs, all taken at different locations. Brandon seemed to notice him looking because he said, "Those were taken the last long leave I took. My husband, wife, and I took a tour of all twelve worlds. It was for his work; he's a food critic for _The Caprican_."

"That sounds interesting," said Bill politely, now noticing several framed magazine covers and a glossy clipping showing Brandon in dress uniform standing beside a man and a woman who were presumably his spouses, at some function.

Brandon smiled wistfully. "It was. I haven't been able to travel with them for a while." He shook his head. "But I knew what I was getting into when I chose the military."

Bill nodded, unsure of what to say.

"You have kids, don't you, Adama?"

Bill nodded again. "Two little boys."

"I bet you wish you saw them more often."

Bill nodded again, feeling ridiculous. He did miss them, but seeing the kids meant seeing CarolAnne, and more often than not lately, seeing CarolAnne meant getting yelled at and spending the night on Saul's couch.

And, a lot of the time, not on Saul's _couch_ , exactly.

"We never had kids," said Brandon. "We didn't think it would work with our lifestyles. I'm never home, Cyrus is never home, Trish is in court all the time."

Bill nodded, making a small noise of understanding, though he didn't know why Brandon was telling him all this. Brandon sat down on the couch next to him. "Tigh... He doesn't have family, does he?"

Bill shook his head. "His family was all killed in the war," he reminded him. Brandon didn't seem to react, so Bill added, "He's from Langham Stoke."

"Oh," said Brandon. "That's a shame." He paused. "I didn't know there were any survivors."

"Sir," said Bill suddenly, deciding he wasn't going to let Brandon keep making these cryptic comments. "Captain Tigh is my friend. I've known him for years, have served with him before. I know him probably better than anyone. If you'd like to formally charge him with a crime, then I'll testify for him. If you'd like to remove him from his post permanently, then I'd oppose that. I stand by the recommendation I gave you three months ago."

Brandon looked surprised. He didn't seem to have expected Bill to speak up, which made Bill realize he should have done it much sooner, instead of just nodding.

"I can understand how you feel," said Brandon, after a beat. "I'd also like to give you some advice. Gods only know I can understand the desire to help people. My wife is a public defender. That's an impulse I value. But there is such a thing as..." He paused. "Too much. Too much patience."

Bill didn't want to say the first thing that came to mind, and in the wake of his silence, Brandon kept going.

"You've had an exemplary career so far," said Brandon. "You're a very capable officer and you can continue to be. You will go far, Adama. To command and beyond. But you may never... say, make admiral, if you keep the weight around your ankles."

Bill drew his lips into a line. "Thank you, sir," he said. "I appreciate your looking out for me."

"Just give it some thought," said Brandon. "Before the outcome of this investigation puts you in a precarious position."

Bill nodded.

Brandon patted him on the shoulder. "Take the rest of the day off, get some rest. I'll see you this evening on the starboard hangar deck. I'll get Clark to make the announcement, but I'd like you to say a few words at the service."

"Yes, sir," said Bill, standing. He saluted and Brandon returned it.

"Take care, Colonel," he said.

"Yes, sir," Bill repeated, letting himself out.

**

On the way to his quarters, Bill could barely contain his anger. What right did Brandon have to tell him who to be friends with? Saul needed his support. That was more important than making admiral. It was positively infuriating.

He yanked the hatch open and saw Saul, sitting cross-legged on the floor, all the papers from Bill's desk spread out around him in neat piles.

"You actually did it," said Bill, impressed.

Saul grinned at him and Bill's pique began to evaporate. "Had to clear off the desk," he said, standing and advancing on Bill.

He kissed Bill firmly, nudging him toward the desk. Everything Brandon had just said flew instantly out of Bill's head. He knew intellectually that this was a terrible idea, especially given Saul's recent suspension, but he was just too good at this. Clearly, Brandon had never had to consider the choice between career ambitions and an amazing kisser.

"You wanna join me in suspension?" Saul asked, his mouth instinctively finding the most sensitive spot on Bill's throat.

Bill didn't, but he did very much like that little nibbling thing Saul was doing. "Mmm," was all he said.

Saul chuckled and pushed gently on Bill's chest, urging him to slide back up onto the desk. Bill quickly forgot how bad an idea this was. Saul's kisses were warm and insistent, but there was an undercurrent of... neediness in the way his hands kept moving across Bill's back, his shoulders, his face.

"So, what's with you?" he asked, when they broke apart. "You wake up this morning all in a funk and now you jump me as soon as I walk in?"

Saul reached down to undo Bill's belt. "You think they'd let you in for a conjugal visit or do we have to be married?"

"Conjugal... _what_?" Bill shoved Saul back and jumped off the desk. "You're not going to jail, Saul. How many times do I have to tell you that? You're not going to jail. They can't prove anything."

Saul rolled his eyes. "What do they need to prove? I'm just a screw-up. They want to pin this on somebody and I'm the easiest target."

Bill sighed. "You're not a screw-up. Maybe if you quit feeling sorry for yourself, you'd see that."

"I'm not feeling sorry for myself," Saul insisted, crossing his arms over his chest, looking like a petulant child.

"You are," said Bill sharply. "You want my pity and you're not going to get it." Saul opened his mouth to protest but Bill waved him off. "You have my _respect_. As an officer and as a friend. If you want to _keep_ that respect, you'll quit wallowing and we'll get to the bottom of this."

Saul looked genuinely surprised. "We?"

"Yeah," said Bill. " _We_."

Saul grinned, looking relieved. Bill returned his smile and closed the gap between them, slipping his arms around Saul's waist, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans. "Plus, this is the only work you're cut out for. Your filing system's _crap_."

Saul rolled his eyes and kissed Bill again.

Despite his misgivings, Bill could tell Saul needed this, so he forced everything Brandon had said out of his mind and broke the kiss long enough to peel off Saul's T-shirt. As soon as his arms were free, Saul went for Bill's buttons. He was clearly in something of a hurry, so Bill let him steer, even as Saul pushed him up against the desk, and then, deciding better of it, maneuvered them towards Bill's rack.

Fast sex wasn't new to them; in fact, a lull in activity in the afternoon sometimes meant a fast and desperate frak in a storage locker. But Saul's desperation here didn't have to do with the fact that they were in danger of being discovered, Bill realized. He was trying to prove something, and Bill decided to just go with the flow, giving Saul what he seemed to need.

A little while later, they were lying side-by-side in Bill's rack. Saul was staring silently up at the ceiling, but he seemed sated. Bill didn't intend to let him fall asleep, but he lacked the energy to kick him out.

"You know what this feels like, Bill?" said Saul suddenly.

Bill looked over at him, confused. "What?"

Saul didn't move, but he gripped the sheet around his waist a little tighter. "Did I ever tell you where I was Armistice Day?"

Bill frowned, trying to remember. "You were serving on _Olympia_ , right?"

"Cylons shut off our power," Saul continued, in a low voice. He flicked his tongue across his lips, thinking. "Must've been right before the order came down, but we were waiting in the dark for twelve hours, for them to board us... or blow us out of the sky... That waiting." He paused, turning his head to look at Bill, eyes pained. "That's what this is like. It's like sitting in my cockpit in the dark, waiting to die."

Bill slipped an arm under Saul's shoulders. "You're not going to die," he said quietly.

"But it's the waiting," said Saul tonelessly, shifting so his head was lying on Bill's chest. "They're not going to do anything with me until they figure out _what_ they're going to do."

"You're not going to jail," said Bill. "Trust me."

Saul grunted, unconvinced and Bill planted a kiss on the top of his head. "We'll do what we can," he murmured into Saul's hair. Slowly, Saul slid an arm around Bill's waist and after a while, his breathing evened. Bill lay there, lost in his thoughts, the sound of Saul's slow, shallow breathing making him feel content and relaxed, despite the fact that his mind was racing.

He was trying to think of how he could prove Saul's innocence. He'd been so gung-ho about figuring something out together, but the truth was, he wasn't sure how to go about it.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud banging sound. His eyes flew open and it took him a second to realize someone was knocking on his door. "Frak!" He shoved Saul out of bed and he fell onto the floor, taking the sheet with him. "Go."

Saul blinked, confused at having been so rudely awakened. "Where'm I supposed to go?" he hissed, trying to untangle his legs.

"Bathroom." Bill shoved Saul toward the head and tossed his clothes in after him. "Coming!" he called, struggling into his own pants and pulling his tanks on over his head as he crossed the room. He wrenched the door open. "Major Mueller," he said curtly.

"Sir."

Bill wasn't intimidated by Mueller like Saul was, but it was still uncomfortable standing in front of him, half-dressed, feeling Mueller's probing gaze, which had to be taking in the papers on the floor, the rumbled sheets, and Saul's socks and sneakers, which Bill was just now realizing were lying in plain sight.

"Commander Brandon sent me to see if you'd prepared your remarks for tonight."

"I haven't written them down," said Bill coolly. "But I know what I'm going to say." He couldn't very well say that instead of writing a speech for a memorial for the victims, he'd been frakking the prime suspect. He crossed his arms over his chest. "How's the investigation going?"

"No developments yet, sir," said Mueller, smiling toothily. "You and the commander can expect to receive a full briefing tomorrow."

Bill nodded. "If there's anything you think I should know, don't hesitate to come to me."

"Yes, sir," said Mueller. They exchanged salutes and Mueller was gone. Bill shut the hatch and Saul padded out of the bathroom.

"What's he doing here?" he muttered, sitting down on the couch and putting his socks on.

"You heard," said Bill. "You need to come to the memorial. Dress grays."

Saul sighed and ran a hand through his hair, but he didn't protest. "Don't let this 'investigation'..."

"I won't," Bill promised. "Now, scram. I have a speech to write."

  
[On to Chapter Five](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/1609.html)   


  



	5. Smoke and Mirrors 5/16

_  
**Smoke and Mirrors 5/16**   
_   
[Back to Chapter Four](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/1378.html)

  
If Bill hadn't mentioned it, Saul wouldn't have come.

It wasn't just that he felt physically uncomfortable in his dress uniform. It was stiff and itchy from not being worn enough and the sash was tight and heavy over his chest. That little voice in the back of his head seemed certain this would be the last time he'd be wearing it.

He forced himself to keep his cool and find a spot near the hastily-erected podium, ostensibly so he could be sure Bill had seen him.

He was trying very hard not to glare, clench his fists, or make a rude gesture in Major Mueller's general direction. It seemed that every time Saul looked up at whoever was speaking, Mueller's eyes were on him, but he looked away again every time Saul met his gaze.

He made a conscious effort to straighten up and look professional and attentive while Brandon went through the list of names. Saul had to admit he was impressed he found something to say about all of them, even the men Saul had never heard of, and he found himself morbidly wondering what Brandon might say if Saul had been among the dead. Would he even be able to come up with anything good to say about Saul without consulting Bill?

He quickly forced himself to abandon this line of thought. He wasn't dead and he didn't plan to be dead anytime soon.

Bill was now approaching the podium, looking nervous. He had a bunch of papers in his hands, but he didn't consult them. Saul wondered if there was even anything written on them. He'd had basically no time to prepare, and Saul felt a little guilty for having taken up a good deal of the time Bill had had.

"I'm not sure what I can say that hasn't already been said by Commander Brandon," said Bill, and Saul could hear the tremble in his voice. "A senseless act like this, the loss of life..."

He fumbled a little with his papers. "There really are no words. An event like this takes only an instant, but changes the lives of so many. I speak from experience. I can't begin to explain why someone might do something like this, so I can't offer that comfort in this time. I just know that this act of violence does exactly the opposite of what its perpetrators intended."

He glanced down at his papers, seeming to realize the next page was missing. "Whoever did this, for whatever cause... when they receive the justice they so sorely deserve... I'll know that those who served _Columbia_ didn't... didn't die in vain..." He seemed to search the crowd for a moment, and Saul realized he was looking for him.

"So say we all," said Saul, in the clearest voice he could manage.

"So say we all," echoed Lucy, beside him.

Bill looked relieved, a little more confident as he surveyed the crowd. "So say we all," he said, his voice sounding a little stronger.

"So say we all," chorused the crowd.

"So say we all," repeated Bill.

Saul could feel Mueller's eyes on him more keenly, but he lifted his head, staring straight at Bill, who gave him a grateful look before surrendering the podium back to Brandon. He concentrated on holding this position as Brandon and the priest made their final remarks and the service concluded. He waited off to the side in case Bill wanted to talk to him, but Bill was talking to Brandon, and then Mueller and Sergeant Carson came up to them and Saul decided it was better to get out of there.

"Saul!"

He'd barely made it to the stairs before Lucy came up beside him.

"How are you doing?"

He shrugged. "As good as can be expected. I'd like to see how you feel when you get booted from your job for no reason."

She grimaced. "Sorry I asked. I was just wondering if you'd be back to work tomorrow."

"I doubt it." He frowned. "I'm waiting on Brandon and he's waiting on Mueller."

Lucy snorted. "Yeah, well, I'll say I miss you. Between you and me, I'm really not looking forward to training runs tomorrow with just the CAG watching out for us."

Saul smiled. "Nice to feel appreciated."

"Well, good luck," she said, giving his shoulder a friendly squeeze. "I hope they get this mess cleared up soon. It's a shame you got caught in the middle."

"I did frak up," he admitted, before she could go.

Lucy paused. "All you have to do to make up for it is do the right thing," she told him. "I think you can do that." She turned to go and Saul headed for the stairs, shaking his head.

When he got back to quarters, there was a note under his pillow.

Three words were written in a familiar handwriting.

 _I owe you._

Saul grinned to himself as he undressed and climbed into bed, replacing the note where he'd found it before lying down and closing his eyes.

**

Bill wasn't sure why, but when Saul was the subject for debate, Bill felt just as guilty as if he'd committed the crime himself.

Not that _Saul_ had committed a crime, Bill reminded himself. Why he had to remind himself of that, he didn't know either. But sitting in Brandon's office, listening while Major Mueller and Sergeant Carson made their report made him feel distinctly uncomfortable.

They probably had nothing. Really. There was no evidence to have. No one could be sure when the bomb had first appeared on the hangar deck, but it had presumably been there since they'd taken the accompanying cargo on at Gemenon. It had been labeled as coffee beans, something benign that wouldn't bat an eye, and Saul had very clearly marked down on his report what it had been.

"Which proves he didn't open the box," said Mueller.

"Or he didn't need to," added Carson quickly. "Because he knew what was really in there."

Bill frowned. "Have you asked him?" he asked.

"Not yet, sir," said Mueller, tone clipped. "That's next on the agenda. Regardless, _opening the box_ is perhaps the least anyone logging cargo could have done."

Bill grit his teeth and shot a glance at Brandon, who remained passively silent. He couldn't very well argue that. Even if they realized Saul had had nothing to do with planting the bomb, he still should have discovered it.

"What else?" prompted Brandon.

"It's difficult to do a full investigation out here, sir," said Carson. "I'd really like to be able to be more thorough. Get a search warrant, or a flight order."

"I didn't think anyone was officially under suspicion," said Bill sharply.

"No one is," said Mueller, snapping his folder shut. "But I'd like to make sure no one has the opportunity to escape."

"No one leaves the ship," said Brandon calmly. "And that's _no one_. Nonessential test flights are hereby canceled and training missions are to occur under regulation parameters under Colonel Adama's eye." He leveled his gaze at Bill. "If anyone tries to leave _Columbia_ 's airspace, I trust your judgment on how to act."

"Yes, sir," said Bill, nodding.

"You're dismissed, gentlemen," said Brandon, nodding to Mueller and Carson. "I need a word with my XO."

Bill had been about to leave to and lowered himself imperceptibly back into his chair. This was very reminiscent of what had happened the other day, which Bill hadn't liked at all.

"It seems that your friend Captain Tigh is more or less the prime suspect," said Brandon softly.

Bill took a deep breath. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Brandon looked slightly confused but he nodded his assent. "Granted."

"I think Major Mueller set out to implicate Saul."

"Are you saying—?"

"I'm saying he may be… biased. They have a history."

"I'm aware of that," said Brandon, sighing, and Bill was suddenly struck by how weary he looked. He hadn't realized that this might trouble Brandon. He hadn't thought he was especially predisposed to care one way or another about Saul.

"But, of course," Brandon added, smiling slightly, "if I had given the investigation to you, Major Mueller would be in my office right now, saying the same thing."

Bill sighed. "I'm just concerned he might not consider all the evidence. I know it doesn't look good, but if there's something out there that points to someone other than Sa—Captain Tigh, I don't think Mueller will find it."

Brandon rubbed his eyes. "And vice versa for you."

Bill didn't say anything.

"We all have our biases, Colonel. I hope you can see my position. Both you and Major Mueller have valid concerns. The fact is, Captain Tigh was derelict in his duty. Whether he did worse than that, I can't be sure. Of course, his friend would stick up for him; that's a point in your favor, Adama. You're a loyal man. Likewise, it's only human nature that Major Mueller would immediately point the finger at an officer he's clashed with in the past."

"That's not exactly professional," said Bill derisively.

"Are you being professional?" asked Brandon sharply.

Bill twitched. Brandon said nothing. He was clearly waiting for a response from Bill.

"I suppose…" Bill looked down. "Not entirely, sir."

Brandon smiled. "I hope you see why I can't place you in charge of this investigation. But, I will remind you that, as the XO of this ship, you have certain authorities."

Bill's lips twitched. "Yes, sir."

"Now," said Brandon briskly. "I believe I told you to supervise a training run in the LSO's absence."

Bill stood and saluted. "I'll get right on that, sir."

**

When Bill got down to the hangar deck, Saul was waiting for him.

"I thought you might like the company," he said, when Bill looked at him quizzically. At least today, he was in uniform—he was wearing his green off-duty fatigues. He was also holding a cup of coffee, which he handed to Bill.

"Sure," Bill said. It was true, he did want to spend time with Saul, but he didn't want to get Saul in any more trouble. "Just try to keep a low profile." He blew on the coffee and took a sip.

Saul paled. "Were they talking about me?"

"Yeah," said Bill, heading for the LSO's station. Saul followed him. "They're talking about asking you a few questions later today."

Saul slumped into one of the chairs. "Bill, I don't know if I can—"

"You'll tell the truth," said Bill, picking up the headset and glancing at the Dradis monitor. "They can't get you if you just tell the truth. There's no actual evidence. It's like my uncle used to say. You're just an easy target, and you're an _easier_ target if you freeze up and look guilty."

Saul looked down at his feet.

"Like that," said Bill, pointing. "Sit up straight and look me in the eye." Saul did as he was told. "Much better," said Bill, satisfied. "We need to get this over with so I can stop doing your job."

Bill turned his attention to his work, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Saul had managed one of his small, crooked grins. Bill found himself smiling fondly in response. If he'd ever doubted his best friend, any lingering reservations disappeared instantly. He just wasn't capable of something like that.

"So," said Saul after a moment, "what are we doing here?"

Bill leaned back in his chair and threaded his fingers through his hair. "Supervising this training mission." He looked at the moving dots on Dradis. They swam before his eyes and he blinked. He much preferred being in the cockpit to watching other people fly. He knew Saul loved flying, too, but he seemed to take more easily to this kind of thing, the logistics and the math and the technical stuff.

Bill glanced down at his clipboard and all the numbers scrawled on it in Saul's handwriting.

"There goes Mueller," said Saul, tapping the monitor. "Viper 859."

"Uh, yeah," said Bill. "We're ready, then."

Saul sat patiently while Bill went over the plan with Mueller. He seemed to be taking Bill's admonition not to draw attention to himself seriously.

"I can't imagine they'd want to do too much," said Saul, wrinkling his nose. "We're about to enter a frakking asteroid field. Nice time for an extreme conditions drill."

"Flying under extreme conditions." Bill grinned. "A couple rocks is pale compared to the extreme conditions we flew under."

Saul nodded. "You said it. Did I ever tell you about—"

"I didn't copy that, _Columbia_. Say again?" crackled Mueller's voice.

Bill froze. "Nothing, Stingray. How's it look out there?"

"Not too crowded. How much of this is showing up on Dradis? There are a lot of little rocks up here."

Bill looked. "Just the big ones. How long you planning on staying up there?"

"Me? I'm staying up here 'til everybody's had a—Frak!" There was a screech of metal and a crash of static.

"Stingray!" Bill leapt to his feet. "Major. Were you hit?"

There was another rush of static. "No, _Columbia_. Dammit. It's… Frak! It's my Viper. There's something wrong, it's just… something blew. Looks like a lost a chunk of wing. Won't stabilize."

"Stingray, I'm sending you some help. If you sit tight and eject—"

Bill had almost forgotten Saul was there when he spoke up. "No, he's got to get himself back over here and land." He leaned forward and plucked the headset off Bill's ear. "Stingray, _Columbia_. Belay that last. We can't take the chance with all that debris. Come on home right now. You're authorized to make an emergency landing. Repeat, emergency landing is authorized."

There was a pause and Bill wondered if Mueller recognized Saul's voice. "Affirmative, _Columbia_. Making my approach."

Saul flicked a switch on the console without even looking at it. "All Vipers, _Columbia_. Give Stingray a wide berth. He's coming in hot." His hand hovered over the switch that would patch him in to CiC but he withdrew and instead turned the channel back to Mueller.

"Watch your roll, Stingray. You want to land on your feet. Keep your eye on the ball." Bill watched the dot that was Mueller on the glidescope as it made its way toward the landing bay. "You got it?"

"Y-Yeah, _Columbia_ ," said Mueller shakily. "I have the ball."

"Good," said Saul. "That's good. Just keep her steady, just like training. You've done this almost a thousand times, Stingray."

Saul didn't stop talking him in, and for the most part, Bill stayed silent until Viper 859 had landed safely.

"I'd better go," said Saul, standing. "You know, before."

Bill grabbed his wrist. "You might get on his good side—"

Saul shook his head. "I don't think he _has_ a good side."

"I'm going to tell Commander Brandon," said Bill. "You stay down here." He paused in the doorway of the LSO's station. "Don't get in trouble, okay?"

Saul grinned and saluted. "Yes, sir."

**

"My memory must be going," said Bill, looking down at Saul, who was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest on the floor of a cell in the brig. "Because I'm pretty sure I told you not to get in trouble."

The corners of Saul's lips twitched. "Yeah, you did."

Bill sighed, wrapping his fingers around the bars of Saul's cell. The marine guard seemed more interested in his magazine than in paying attention to them. "It's funny, when we transferred here, and you went three months without seeing the inside of the brig, I thought you'd outgrown this."

Saul grinned. "I needed to see if _Columbia_ 's brig was different from _Atlantia_ 's or not."

"I suppose I ought to ask you what happened."

Saul rolled to his feet and came to stand in front of Bill, jamming his hands into the pockets of his fatigues. "I accepted the major's thanks for my help with all the professionalism with which he gave it."

"He said you were unruly."

Saul raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's a new one. I was getting sick of disorderly and disobedient."

Bill rolled his eyes and tried not to smile. "So, tell me what happened."

Saul snickered. "See how this matches up with what he told you."

  
[On to Chapter Six](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/1868.html)   


  



	6. Smoke and Mirrors 6/16

_  
**Smoke and Mirrors 6/16**   
_   
[Back to Chapter Five](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/1609.html)

  
Saul had intended to follow Bill's instructions. He really had. It was all Mueller's fault.

All he'd wanted was to get somewhere else, preferably his rack, as quickly as possible without being noticed, but the deck crew was concentrating on getting Mueller out of his wrecked bird, and Saul couldn't resist the temptation to go make sure he was okay. After all, if Mueller was dead or something, they'd probably blame him.

"How'd you manage to do this, Major?" asked Randall as she helped Mueller to the ground.

"Wasn't my fault," said Mueller, dusting himself off and starting to unzip his flight suit. "I—" He froze, his eyes falling on Saul. " _You_."

Saul stopped. "What?"

"You were hanging around my Viper the other day," said Mueller, advancing on him. "McCurdy told me."

Saul shot the deckhand Mueller pointed to a glare. At least he knew the big-eared kid's name. "I _helped_ you. You almost got yourself killed."

"There was nothing wrong with that bird the other day. Then you show up, same day as the bombing. What did you do to it, Tigh? You trying to take me out so you don't get locked up for the rest of your miserable little life?"

"Frak you," said Saul. He lunged at Mueller, but there was a flash of blonde hair and Lucy was behind him, holding on to him as if for dear life.

"Saul," she said plaintively. He ignored her, intent only on wiping that grin off Mueller's stupid face.

Mueller strode toward him. Saul pulled forward, but Lucy dug in her heels.

"You coward. You wouldn't last a day in lockup. Probably can't tie your own shoes without Adama's help."

"You leave him out of this," Saul snarled.

"Touched a nerve, did I?" Mueller leaned in, and Saul could have spat on him. "You know, I can't tell what it is… Do you want to frak him or have him be your Daddy stand-in?" He paused. "Maybe it's both?"

Saul wasn't sure if he'd managed to shake Lucy off or if she had let him go. Either way, the next thing he knew, he had thrown Mueller to the deck and was punching him. In the back of his mind, he knew this was just like before, on the freighter, where that white-hot rage would get the best of him until Bill pulled him off the hapless frak who'd pissed him off. Bill wasn't here, though, and Saul kept hitting Mueller until he was lifted off his feet by two marines.

"You're under arrest," spat Mueller, wiping the blood away from his mouth. "Insubordination, striking a superior officer, whatever. Just take him to the brig. He's a frakking maniac."

**

Bill listened placidly to Saul's story, a slightly amused smile on his face.

"It's satisfying as hell," said Saul. "That connection?" He pressed his fist against his own jaw, miming how he'd punched Mueller. "It's better than sex."

Bill frowned. He wasn't sure whether or not to find that insulting. "You're in trouble," he finally said.

"I know I'm in trouble, Bill." Saul waved his hand to indicate his surroundings. "I'm in hack."

"No," said Bill, crossing his arms over his chest. "I mean real trouble. Carson formally recommended that you be charged with the bombing, and Mueller jumped right in his corner. He's not _implying_ anymore. He really wants you arrested and standing trial. You're not getting out of here until we get to Scorpia."

"Bastard," spat Saul.

Bill didn't say anything.

"So what am I supposed to do?" Saul asked him, fiddling with the buttons on his fatigues.

"I'm thinking about that."

"I mean, gods, Bill, a trial! I can't…"

"I know."

They stood silently for a few moments, Saul avoiding Bill's gaze, playing with the hem of his open jacket.

"I'll think of something," Bill finally said quietly. "Promise."

Saul gave him a weak smile.

"Did you know you knocked his teeth out? He was off to Doc Winters when I saw him."

"Oh yeah?" said Saul, raising his eyebrows. "How many did I get?"

Bill pursed his lips firmly, in an attempt not to smile. "Three."

Saul beamed. "New record."

Bill rolled his eyes. "You're completely off your rocker, you know that?"

Saul just grinned.

It was at that moment that the door to the brig opened and Mueller marched in. Sergeant Carson was with him, as was a marine whose name Bill wasn't sure of—he thought it might be Bixby.

"Sir." Mueller greeted Bill formally, with a salute, and the other two snapped to attention.

"Can I ask the meaning of this, Major?" he asked archly.

Mueller's lip curled, but then he stopped, wincing; Saul crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. "We're here to interrogate the prisoner, Colonel. Sergeant Carson and I are in charge of this investigation; it's under our jurisdiction."

Bill glanced back and forth between Saul and Mueller. This looked very bad. Mueller looked downright predatory. "What information do you hope to glean from the prisoner that you don't already have?"

Mueller looked Bill right in the eyes. "There have been some new developments. I have Commander Brandon's direct authorization. Sir."

"I'd like to be present."

"We're trying to keep the circle as small as possible, sir," said Carson. "The major and I will give you and the commander a full briefing later this evening."

Bill took a deep breath. "Major Mueller, I insist—"

"Colonel, the commander already—"

"For frak's sake, he saved your life," Bill snapped.

Mueller looked at Saul. "Sir, he tried to kill me."

Saul scowled. "You're full of shit, Stingray. I'll—"

"You'll be quiet," snapped Mueller. "Until spoken to."

"I'm going to have to insist on staying," said Bill.

"Sir," said Carson, speaking up now. "Commander Brandon was equally insistent on keeping this quiet. With all due respect, sir, your relationship with Captain Tigh is hardly—"

"Relevant," said Bill sharply, feeling his face grow hot. "It's hardly relevant."

"I'm afraid you'll have to take that up with the commander, sir," said Carson. "He told me you're too close to this, being friends with the prisoner."

Bill hesitated. He looked at Mueller, and then he looked at Saul. "I'll be right back," he said firmly.

**

As soon as he heard the hatch click, Saul's stomach dropped.

"You're relieved, Corporal," said Mueller to the guard sitting at the desk.

"Sir?"

"Take a hike, Smitty," said Carson, striding toward the cell.

Saul took a step back, as Mueller opened the door. He tried calculating his chances of getting past Mueller and the two marines, but that would probably just get him chained to the bars or something, for "trying to escape."

"Cuff him," said Mueller firmly, and Bixby grabbed his shoulders to keep him from splitting.

"Now, who's the coward?" said Saul, as Carson yanked his hands behind his back and slapped the handcuffs on.

Mueller got right in his face. "Yeah, at least I don't try to hide behind the XO. You scared without Daddy here to protect you?"

Saul smirked. "In your dreams. Sir."

"Frak you."

"You're not my type." Saul grinned. "I like a nice smile on a guy. Big toothy smile."

"We'll see about that," said Mueller, cracking his knuckles as the two marines stepped away.

The first punch sent him sprawling. Saul tasted blood in his mouth and spat. "I've never been able to figure out what your beef is with me, Mueller," he said.

"My beef with you is that you're a godsdamn terrorist."

"You can't be serious," said Saul. "I don't care if you hated me since we met because I looked at you cross-eyed. Maybe all CAGs hate the LSO," he added, remembering Bill's feud with Steiner on _Atlantia_. "Maybe—oof." He was cut short as Mueller's boot connected with his gut.

"You're a problem, Tigh. I don't know how you made it through officer candidate school."

Saul snorted but it came out as a cough. "You were the one who couldn't land his frakking Viper. I was making combat landings when you still had training wheels on your bike."

"You don't know anything about me," said Mueller, kicking him harder.

Saul groaned. "What the godsdamn hell are you talking about?"

It was Bixby who kicked him this time, which sent him flopping onto his back.

"You don't know jack about me," said Mueller.

Saul spat again. "I never said I did, you frakking maniac."

Mueller nodded and Carson grabbed Saul by the shoulders and held him up. "I think the major here told you to be quiet, soldier," he said.

Saul raised an eyebrow in Carson's direction. "Oh, yeah? You giving orders around here, Sarge? Must've missed that development."

Bixby slugged him and Saul shook his head. "Whole place has gotten frakked," he muttered.

Mueller looked at him, eye-to-eye. "You're just a screw-up, Jinx. The only reason you're here is because you lick Adama's boots and gods know what else."

Saul scowled. "You don't know when to shut your frakking mouth, do you?"

"I know when to shut yours." He punched Saul again in the mouth and Saul closed his eyes.

It only lasted a few minutes more—Mueller obviously didn't want to be there when Bill came back—but it lasted long enough.

"This isn't over," spat Mueller, leaning down. He aimed one more kick at Saul's jaw. "This is just the first payment."

**

Bill got frustratingly nowhere with Brandon. It was true, Saul had hit Mueller first—he was provoked, Bill knew, but Saul had struck first.

There was too much evidence, he said, that Saul was responsible for the bombing—at least, enough evidence to get him held in detention until they arrived on Picon, even though the formal charge was just striking a superior officer.

Bill knew he couldn't let this go to trial, didn't want to let this go to trial. He tried picturing himself testifying before a court martial hearing, trying to vouch for what? Saul's character? Whereabouts? What did Bill have to say that could get Saul off? He'd be discharged if was found derelict… if they thought he was the bomber, they'd _execute_ him.

Mueller and the others were gone by the time Bill had returned to the brig. Saul was lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling. There was blood around his mouth and his skin was already beginning to bruise.

"What the hell happened?" Bill asked, yanking open the cell door.

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," he said, his speech sounding muffled.

"Gods, Saul, I'm sorry I left you with them." Bill crouched beside him.

Saul rolled into a sitting position and gave Bill an impressive black-eyed glare. He was still cuffed and Bill didn't know where the key was. "Hand?"

Bill held out his hand and Saul spat two teeth into it. Bill stared at them for a moment impassively. Then, he reached into his pocket for his handkerchief. "Don't you _ever_ say I don't do anything for you," he muttered as he wrapped up Saul's teeth and tucked them away. "My uncle always said you don't really know a guy until you've had his teeth in your pocket."

Saul managed a grin. "Good old Uncle Sam." He paused. "What about Brandon? What'd he say about me?"

"To leave you here," Bill admitted. "But I'm taking you to the doc. You all right?" He paused. "Besides the parts that aren't?"

"None the worse for wear," said Saul. He coughed. "I could've taken 'em if I had my hands free."

"Yeah," said Bill, "I bet." He kissed Saul gently, stopping when he winced.

"Don't," Saul murmured. "Not gonna get you in trouble, too."

Bill brushed Saul's hair back from his forehead. "It's going to be okay."

"Yeah." Saul gave him a wan smile. "Can't get much worse unless Mueller comes back for the other thirty."

**

Saul was pretty sure he'd been punished enough today. Bill was gone for an hour, and when he returned, he had two marines with him and ordered Saul to his feet. Saul knew he was just trying to play the part, but it was a little discouraging to be frog-marched through the corridors of _Columbia_ , following Bill's ramrod-straight back.

That paled, though, with the indignity he'd had to face in sick bay. Saul had always hated going to the dentist, but he'd never been handcuffed to the chair before. If having his teeth replaced under armed guard wasn't bad enough, Bill was standing right next to him, holding the ice pack over Saul's eyes.

"You really ought to floss more often, Tigh," Doc Winters remarked as she tapped the first of Saul's teeth back into place.

"Yesshir," said Saul.

"Because, you know, I can save these two but if you don't floss, sooner or later, you'll lose the rest."

"Yesshir."

"I don't know what it is about today—I had to replace three of Major Mueller's teeth earlier. How did all this happen?"

"Uh fell," said Saul. "'Aceplanted righ' on the hangar deck." Why did they always try to make you talk?

Bill looked stern. "Captain Tigh is currently being held in the brig for striking Major Mueller this morning."

"I see," said Winters. "Open wider."

Saul complied, difficult with the pain on his face.

Maybe it was because Bill had told her what he'd done, or maybe it was his imagination, but the second one seemed to hurt a hell of a lot more than the first.

"Rinse again," said Winters curtly.

Bill looked as indignant as Saul at having to help him. "Next time," he said calmly, as he held the paper cup up for Saul to sip from. "I'd rather you just stick with the black eyes."

Saul would have liked to share a smile with Bill, but he was becoming increasingly aware of how much trouble he was really in (especially since the doc didn't even give him anything for the pain).

After Winters was done with him, Bill left for a few minutes. Saul sighed. Nice time to take a leak, he thought. His arms were getting numb from being strapped behind him.

Finally, Bill came back and helped him out of the chair.

"Where are the guards?" asked Saul as Bill walked him back to the brig.

"We don't need 'em. I'm perfectly capable of walking you this short distance to the brig."

"Where are we going? I mean, I can see we're not going to the brig." Saul was very confused.

"We _are_ going to the brig," said Bill, and he grabbed Saul's shoulder and jerked him down the hall that led to the hangar deck. "I was taking a shortcut."

"More like a longcut," Saul muttered.

"Of course, it's a more deserted area of the ship," Bill remarked. "Nobody uses this hallway this time of night."

"Bill?"

"Saul?"

Saul stopped. "Would you tell me what the frak you're doing?"

Bill glanced up at the security camera above Saul's head and took a step to his left, beckoning for Saul to follow him into the blind spot.

"I'm helping you escape," said Bill. He grabbed Saul's wrists and unlocked the cuffs, letting them drop to the floor, along with the key. "You're innocent, Saul, but if you stick around here, nobody will see that until it's too late. I'm thinking if they don't shoot you, you'll wind up in prison on Aquaria."

Saul blinked. "You can't do this, Bill. They'll get you, too."

"Not if we come back with evidence." Bill turned, but Saul lunged for him and grabbed his gun from his holster.

"Show for the cameras," he said, pointing it at Bill.

Bill glowered at him, but then he sighed. "You're a criminal genius. Come on."

  


  
[On to Chapter Seven](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/2106.html)   
  



	7. Smoke and Mirrors 7/16

_  
**Smoke and Mirrors 7/16**   
_   
[Back to Chapter Six](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/1868.html)

  
The hangar deck was deserted when Bill and Saul reached it. Their footsteps rang loudly in the enormous, empty room and Saul felt very small. This _Columbia_ was larger than her previous incarnation, including the hangar deck and it looked even bigger with all the deck crew in their racks.

As they got closer, Saul could see that there was a lone Raptor sitting, ready to go, its hatch open. He noted with some trepidation that it was unassigned. Why would the chief's crew leave a Raptor sitting out like that?

"This was going to be used for tests, which you'd know since you're the LSO," said Bill matter-of-factly, leading Saul, who was still clutching Bill's gun, toward the Raptor. He jumped up onto the gangplank and held out his hand to Saul.

"You planned this?" Saul asked, bewildered.

"Yes," said Bill plainly. "Let me get her fired up." He turned and stepped into the forward section of the Raptor.

Saul stood there dumbly, still holding the gun, while Bill sat in the pilot's seat and began setting controls.

"You're serious about this, Bill?"

Bill stepped down from the Raptor. "You _want_ to stay here?"

"Well," he murmured. "I guess I'm frakked either way, huh?"

"Looks like," said Bill, reaching for his arm and dragging him aboard.

**

It seemed that every pilot in the duty locker was asleep except Major Mueller. It wasn't just the pain in his mouth—though he was reminded of that every time he tried to switch position. Part of it was his frustration over Tigh. He knew intellectually that the son-of-a-bitch was just trying to rile him up, but he couldn't help getting bent out of shape over it.

Every time he drifted off, he kept having dreams about his teeth falling out.

He hated the silence. It was weird for everybody to be asleep, like this. Usually, he could at least hear the snorers, the loud breathers, the sweethearts who thought they could sneak over to their girlfriend or boyfriend's rack for a quickie.

Not tonight, though. Everyone was on pins-and-needles after the bombing. Or maybe it was just Mueller.

He jumped when he heard the hatch open. Someone was coming in. Had anyone been missing? He let out the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding when Bubbles padded by him and pulled herself up into her rack. This was going to be a long night.

At least teaching Tigh a lesson had been satisfying—practically better than sex. Mueller had never considered himself a particularly violent person—he'd gotten into his fair share of fights at training, but he wasn't as bad as some. It was enough that it still felt foreign, remembering the way he'd whaled on Tigh. But every time he shifted his face on his pillow, he felt more justified.

He'd just nearly drifted back off to sleep when the sound of the alarm cut through the nighttime silence.

"What the frak?" someone muttered sleepily. Mueller shoved his curtain aside and jammed his feet into his boots.

"Come on," he yelled, his insomnia making it easier to get back into full CAG mode. "Everybody, on your feet. Get going." Mueller reached into his locker and grabbed his gun, just in case. "I'm going to CiC. The rest of you suit up and get down to the hangar deck. We don't know what this is, and we don't want to take any chances." He shrugged his jacket on and took off for the door.

There was a rumble of affirmation from the pilots, but Mueller didn't wait to see if anyone followed his orders. The adrenaline rush as he tore through the corridors never got old. Mueller was as dedicated a soldier as anyone (probably more than most, if he did say so himself) and he knew _Columbia_ inside out. She was the only battlestar he'd ever served on and Brandon was the only commander he'd ever known. He knew he was young, very young, but he'd been secretly hoping that when Colonel Winston retired, Brandon would ask Mueller to be his new XO. Instead, he'd brought on Adama. It wasn't that Mueller disliked Adama—it was just that Adama and Tigh apparently came as a matched set, and Mueller had never met an officer as… unprofessional… as Saul Tigh.

"Do you have any idea what's going on, Major?" Brandon asked. Mueller jumped. He hadn't even noticed the commander fall into step beside him.

"No, sir," said Mueller, as he followed the older man into CiC. "Not a clue."

"Mr. Clark, sitrep," Brandon ordered as he took up his post. Mueller noted with some scorn that Adama wasn't there.

Clark stood and saluted. "Unauthorized departure on the starboard flight deck, sir. Raptor 419."

"Wireless?"

"They're not responding."

Brandon scowled. "Where the frak is Adama?" he muttered under his breath.

"Sir? Orders?" Clark asked.

Brandon held his arms behind his back. "Lieutenant. Inform the crew of Raptor 419 that their departure is unauthorized. Order them to turn back immediately. Major Mueller, scramble a wing of Vipers. If Raptor 419 does not turn back, inform them that you will fire on them. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Mueller felt a rush of adrenaline—or maybe it was nerves. He couldn't imagine really shooting somebody down. He turned on his heel and prepared to exit the CiC when Clark announced. "Message from the brig." He spun in his chair to face Brandon. "Sir, Captain Tigh is missing."

Mueller froze. That motherfrakker!

Brandon looked furious. "Private!" he snapped at one of the marines at his elbow. "Find Colonel Adama _now_. You're authorized to enter his quarters if he does not respond."

"Sir, Raptor 419 is spooling up their FTL," reported Lieutenant Hunter.

"Where are my Vipers?" Brandon shouted. Mueller wanted to run down to the hangar deck, but his feet were rooted to the spot. He couldn't believe that bastard was getting away. He yanked the handset off the console.

"This is the CAG. Blue squadron, scramble. Repeat, blue squadron, scramble."

Hunter paled. "Sir," she said shakily, "Raptor 419 has jumped away."

Brandon slammed his hand down on the central console in frustration. "Damn!"

Mueller clutched the mic so tightly his hand hurt.

**

"You're completely off your rocker, you know that?" said Saul drily as Bill piloted the Raptor out of the starboard flight deck. He leaned back in his seat and propped his boots up in front of him.

Bill didn't look up from the controls. "Get your feet off my console."

Saul obeyed silently. After a moment, he said, "You're going to get in trouble, Bill."

"Hopefully not." He glanced over his left shoulder. "Get the book and start spinning up our FTL. We're going to jump."

"Don't you think they'll find us if we use jump coordinates from the book?" Saul asked, but he got up anyway. He tossed Bill the book and tapped the FTL controls. He had never been primarily assigned to a Raptor, but he knew his way around, remembered his training. (Not like those frakwits who had mustered him back into the service had believed him—he'd had to go through those qualification tests again, like they thought he'd never flown before.)

Bill opened the book and began flipping through it. "I'm going to tweak them a little. Just enough so it takes them a while to find us, not enough so it lands us in the middle of the sun."

"I like your confidence," said Saul, sitting down again. He peered out the window at _Columbia_ filling his field of vision and felt a slight pang. He'd only been on the ship for three months but he'd become rather fond of her. Somehow, he felt a kind of affinity for the ship, which had been destroyed in the last day of the war and then rebuilt. Saul was a survivor, too.

"Hopefully, they won't shoot at us," said Bill brightly, getting up and heading back to the FTL computer to input the coordinates.

"Yeah," echoed Saul, not taking his eyes off _Columbia¬_ —more specifically, her gun batteries and launch tubes, expecting to see a whole wing of Vipers coming out to escort them back in—or blow them out of the sky.

"We're almost spun up," Bill announced. "You want to get the wheel? I want to get these coordinates in before they notice we're gone."

Saul slid into the pilot's seat. "Ready," he announced, trying to shake off some of his nerves. He was being stupid.

Behind him, he could hear Bill typing away. "Husker to Jinx, we're jumping in three."

Saul rolled his eyes. "Roger that, Husker."

"Keep her steady," Bill instructed. Saul wrapped his hands around the control yokes. "If they fire on us, you're going to need to get us out of here."

"Sure thing," said Saul, biting his lip. Despite the extra training just a few years ago, he wasn't exactly one-hundred-percent confident in his Raptor-piloting abilities. Not like he was with a Viper. It was like trying to drive a fire truck when you'd only driven a sports car. "Oh, they're hailing us." Saul drummed his fingers on the controls but pointedly did not engage the wireless.

"Which means they've just noticed us," said Bill. He glanced at the countdown clock. "If you stall them, they might hold off on launching Vipers."

"No way," said Saul. "I can't pretend I kidnapped you. _You_ kidnapped _me_." He still wasn't taking his eyes off the ship.

"Suit yourself," said Bill. He leaned back in the ECO's chair. "I'd kind of like to see you play the hardened criminal."

Saul snorted, toying idly with his dog tags. "I guess it'd be what Mueller expects. You think Brandon will believe it?"

Bill sighed. "I think Brandon won't know what to believe. I feel bad about this, I really do. He was more supportive of you than you realize. I regret the possibility that he might think I'm your accomplice."

"Not bad enough not to do it," Saul muttered.

"Hey," said Bill warningly, sitting up straight. "It's you. You come first. You're way more important than how Philip Brandon feels about me."

"Even if it gets you discharged?"

"Even if it gets me discharged." He paused. "If they kick us out, we can… what was your last job before this?"

"Night watchman," answered Saul. He was still embarrassed about the crappy job Bill's uncle had gotten him, though he was grateful for the help. Not for the first time, he wished there were some strings he could pull to help Bill one day. "It was in a… condom factory," he muttered.

"Then we'll be night watchmen in a condom factory together." Bill paused. "They give out free samples?"

Saul snorted. "You're a frakking perv."

"Hey," said Bill. "I always like to scope out the benefits."

Saul snickered and after a moment, it turned into real, honest laughter. Bill joined him a moment later. It felt good to laugh with Bill, especially given the awful few days Saul had had. He debated saying something to him, about how grateful he was for his help, about how much… how much Bill meant to him.

"You know," he began, trying to gather his thoughts. "Bill. I really—"

"Hold on a sec, okay?" Bill leaned over the controls. "We're about to go. No word from _Columbia_?"

"Oh, the usual 'stop or we'll shoot'." Saul shrugged, feeling his ears redden at the way he'd been interrupted. "But they're not going to do anything… Probably because I've got you on board," he added, more to himself.

Bill grinned. "See? You're already getting into character."

"I'm a method actor," Saul muttered.

"Okay. Get ready. 5… 4…."

"They're launching Vipers."

"Let them. 2… and jump."

Saul's last thought before his stomach turned inside out was that he had no frakking clue where they were going.

  


  
[On to Chapter Eight](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/2437.html)   
  



	8. Smoke and Mirrors 8/16

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**Smoke and Mirrors 8/16**   
_   
[Back to Chapter Seven](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/2106.html)

  
Raptor 419 came out of the jump in an area of space devoid of any identifying planetary bodies.

"Where did you take us, Bill?" Saul asked, leaning forward against the window. "We're not near anything."

"That was my intention," said Bill, standing and stretching as much as he could in the cramped space. "This is just the first step. We need to get some rest. When's the last time you slept?"

Saul realized he couldn't remember. It felt like forever since he'd curled up in his nice warm rack, his fingers wrapped around Bill's note. "Dunno," he said. "I don't even know what time it was when we left."

"Here," Bill said, digging around in the aft section, finally extracting two bedrolls. "Thankfully, we're fully equipped for a camping trip."

"Out here?" Saul wondered.

"We'll make do." Bill tossed Saul a pillow and blanket and began making a bed for himself lengthwise on the floor. After a moment's hesitation, Saul spread out his own bedroll and joined him.

"How do you feel?" Bill slid over to give Saul more room, though there was barely space for them to lie side-by-side.

Saul reached up to touch his bruised face and throbbing jaw. "I feel fine," he said, lying down and trying to find a comfortable position. Now that he was thinking about it, he was beginning to hurt and it was hard to lie down on the metal Raptor floor without aggravating something.

"That's good," said Bill. He lay down on his side and Saul was suddenly aware of their closeness.

"Can I ask where we're going?" he asked again, giving in to the desire he had to slide a little closer.

Bill smirked, both at the question and the forwardness, and brushed his thumb gingerly across Saul's cheek. "You won't like it," he said softly.

"Try me," said Saul, propping his head up on his elbow to be on eye level with Bill.

He took a deep breath. "I just want to check something out. I feel like we ought to cover all our bases."

"Where are we going, Bill?" Saul asked levelly.

"Aerilon."

Saul let out a low whistle. "You're in for something else," he said.

"You haven't been there in over twenty-five years. How do you know what it's like?"

Saul sighed. "I hear the news."

"So do I."

"You didn't grow up there." Saul sat up. "There's a reason I never want to go back, and it's not just because I have no one to go back _to_."

Bill snorted and sat up, too. "I grew up in Little Tauron. You've met my uncle. You worked for him!"

"It's not the same," said Saul, shaking his head. "It's just… it's…" He took a deep breath. "They call Aerilon the breadbasket of the twelve worlds. When they say that, they mean the middle of the planet. Around the equator. I grew up on the southern continent. We were sandsniffers."

"Irrigationists," said Bill, realization dawning. "I should have known. You don't sound like you're from Aerilon."

Saul snickered. "Small blessings. My dad was from Canceron. I guess he thought Aerilon was the better choice, rather than raising a family in the slums." He sighed. "Not like it did him any good."

"I'm sorry," said Bill softly.

"Nah," said Saul. "It was a long time ago. I've been on my own longer than I had 'em."

"You've got me," said Bill.

He tilted Saul's chin up with two fingers and kissed him. It felt like coming home, the warm, reassuring pressure of Bill's lips on his. All the crap he'd been through, everything he'd frakked up—it almost felt like it didn't matter. His head was pounding and his body ached, but Bill's kisses were enough to somehow numb the pain. He really was stupidly lucky, he decided, as he shifted to slip his arms around Bill's neck.

"Hey, watch it," said Bill, drawing back slightly. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," said Saul, leaning in and kissing him again. Bill responded and they kissed for a few more moments, until Bill parted them.

"You sleep first, then," he said, brushing back Saul's hair. "I'll keep watch."

Saul was going to protest, that Bill had done enough today when all Saul had done was sit on his ass in the brig, but it felt so good to spread out that he never managed to say anything.

**

Despite the chaos in CiC, Philip Brandon stood staring into space until Lieutenant Clark interrupted him.

"Sir? I've pulled the security cam footage for the hangar deck. You might want to see it."

Brandon glanced at Mueller, who raised an eyebrow.

"Put it on the monitor," he told Clark.

The image flickered for a second, but it was unmistakably Adama and Tigh getting into a Raptor. Brandon frowned. Tigh had a gun on Adama, but it didn't look entirely convincing.

"Sir?" said Sergeant Carson. "Is that what I think it is?"

Brandon turned. He hadn't noticed him enter. "What _do_ you think it is, Sergeant?"

Carson frowned. "Sir, I think it looks like Tigh abducting Colonel Adama."

Brandon frowned, studying Tigh's expression, Adama's movements.

Mueller stepped a little closer to him. "Sir, if I may." He paused. "I think they're in on it together."

Brandon looked at him sharply. "What are you saying, Major?"

Mueller looked nervous. "Sir, I'm saying that… it's my opinion that Colonel Adama and Captain Tigh are both involved."

Brandon crossed his arms over his chest. "That's a very serious accusation, Major."

Mueller nodded. "I know, sir. I'm just saying what I think based on the evidence."

Brandon glanced back at the tape. He knew Adama and Tigh were very close, but he had always guessed that if Tigh were guilty, Adama had been just as misled as the rest of them.

Now, he was beginning to reconsider.

"You may be right, Major," he murmured. He wondered if he'd been wrong about Adama… or if Adama had been wrong about Tigh.

**

Saul slept so soundly he had no concept of how long he was out for. He'd been expecting Bill to wake him in a few hours to take over the watch, but instead, he awoke on his own, refreshed and well-rested.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes—thankfully, he felt much better. Bill was sitting in the pilot's seat, his nose buried in a book. Even when packing for a fast getaway, Bill had thought to bring a book.

"What time is it?" asked Saul.

"0530," said Bill. He got up and made his way back to where Saul lay, dragging his duffel toward him. "Breakfast?"

Saul sat up. "Aren't you tired?"

"I'll live." Bill handed Saul a protein bar. "Eat up."

They ate in silence. What Bill had said the night before was coming back to Saul and started to weigh on him. He wasn't sure he was ready to go back… home.

Frak, thinking of it as home was weird.

"You're not going to be doing it alone," said Bill, seeming to know exactly what he was thinking. "I'll be with you."

"Yeah," said Saul quietly.

"And we don't have to go anywhere near…"

"No," Saul cut in. "I want to. Lots of separatists down that way when I was growing up. I remember my dad being sort of involved—nothing serious," he added, when Bill looked like he was going to say something. "Just a bunch of guys in the basement on a Saturday afternoon."

He remembered it vaguely now that he talked about it, peering around the top of the basement stairs at the men around the table playing cards under the thick haze of smoke. That was where he'd learned the game, standing at his father's elbow, waiting patiently for someone to send him to the kitchen for another beer. He couldn't have been more than seven or eight at the time; it had been years before the war had thinned the ranks of the men in the Tighs' basement to nothing.

He shook his head. Weird how things you didn't think about for years could come back so quickly like that.

"We ought to start in Gaoth, though," said Bill. "Maybe see if that's still the case."

"No," said Saul.

"No?" asked Bill quizzically.

Saul took a deep breath. "I need to go home," he murmured.

Bill nodded. "Okay. I can understand that. I'll jump us in and you can take it from there."

He almost didn't recognize it when they jumped into Aerilon's orbit.

"That's… it's…" Saul's mouth was dry.

"How you remembered it?" Bill asked.

"I'm not sure," Saul murmured dully. The last time he'd seen Aerilon, he'd been a fifteen-year-old new recruit, bound for the _Brenik_. He'd been so enthralled with his new uniform, new rucksack, new everything, that he'd barely spared a glance out the shuttle window at the world of his birth as it fell away below him. What did home matter when he was a runaway?

He shifted his duffle on his lap and traced his finger over the frayed stitching on his name patch. Just like back then, only in reverse. He was older now, though whether he was wiser was a tossup. He'd certainly been through a lot. And he still had that urge to run away.

The kid on that shuttle had had no idea what was lying ahead of him. Saul remembered thinking he'd be a toaster-killing hero. He snorted at his own naïveté and Bill looked at him funny.

On the other hand, he hadn't foreseen meeting Bill either. He smiled. That kid had a lot of tough stuff ahead, but he also had a lot to look forward to.

"You okay?" Bill asked.

"Yep," said Saul, his smile widening. "I'm great, all things considered."

Bill chuckled and squeezed Saul's knee. "Coming home's never as bad as you think it'll be."

Saul's smile fell when Bill looked away. He certainly hoped that was true, since right now, the prospect of coming home seemed very daunting.

**

They switched pilots once they broke the atmosphere. Bill had gotten them around civilian and military Dradis, but Saul was the one who knew the way.

Bill watched the landscape fly by outside the Raptor. Saul was quiet as he flew, his head hunched over the controls in concentration. Occasionally, he'd finger his dog tags through his open jacket, but he didn't say anything to Bill.

The terrain was getting rougher and the farms they'd seen initially were disappearing. This wasn't at all what Bill thought of when he thought of Aerilon. This was a desert. He glanced over at Saul again, tried to picture him growing up here. He couldn't even picture Saul as a kid. All he could come up with was a shorter copy of the current version.

"What are you staring at?" muttered Saul.

Bill looked back out the window.

"Oh," said Saul suddenly. "This is… We're almost there." He went silent, his eyes on the landscape below. Bill wondered if he should put a hand on his shoulder or something, but Saul's posture said, quite clearly, "Don't touch me."

It wasn't long before they had set down. Saul had put them down behind the tree line—not much of one, just a few scrubby ones that Bill, raised on Caprica, would have barely considered trees. He'd been anticipating letting Saul take the lead; maybe he needed to be alone with his thoughts.

Instead, Saul waited expectantly at the bottom of the gangplank. "You coming?" he asked, hiking his bag up on his shoulder. Bill swallowed any comments he would have made and exited the Raptor.

Saul was already headed away from their landing site, his strides long and determined and Bill doubted his ability to catch up. He'd lost sight of him by the time he was clear of the tree line. The vastness of it took his breath away. He'd seen plains and wide open spaces before, but he'd usually been _near_ civilization, still aware of it.

This place, on the other hand, was complete nothing. It was hard to believe people lived there.

"Saul?" he called. There was no answer. Bill climbed the small rise to the plateau—the village would be near the irrigation system which led to the river the trees had sprung up around.

Saul was standing in the middle of a pile of rubble, probably preserved as a memorial, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"This is the place," he said dully. "There's a plaque." Bill took a few steps forward in the direction of the signage. There was a religious message, a list of names. He scanned the Ts, but it jumped from Taylor to Turner, skipping over Tigh.

"They're not on it," said Saul dully.

"Saul…"

"Marcella Diane Killian Tigh. Sophie Agnes Tigh. She was only _eleven_. They both died here. They're not on the list." His features were twisted with emotion. Bill had never heard him say this much about his family. "My mom and my baby sister, Bill. My mom and my sister."

Bill was struck very sharply by the memory of his eleventh birthday. He jammed his hands into his pockets. "Saul, I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Saul brushed a hand across his eye. Probably dust in it, Bill decided. "I just… it's been so _long_. I thought I… I thought I… I thought I'd gotten over it."

"You don't get over it," said Bill. "Can't get over it. That's what makes you human. Humans love, humans grieve."

"It's like they never existed." Saul swiped at his eyes again. "Like they weren't even here. How can I prove they existed? I don't even remember which house was ours."

Tentatively, Bill slipped an arm around his shoulders. "We remember them," he said quietly. "You remember them, you told me about them. I can remember them, too."

Saul frowned, but Bill could feel his shoulders relax imperceptibly under Bill's arm. Bill surveyed the landscape, the rocky desert stretching out on either side of them, the mountains in the distance. It was still hard to connect this landscape to the Saul he knew. What kind of childhood had he had here?

Bill was finding it hard to believe Saul had even _had_ a childhood, much less one here among the red rock formations, miles of sand stretching out around them. Thought that was ridiculous, of course. Saul hadn't just suddenly popped up one day, already in his mid-thirties.

They stood there a long time, until the sun started going down. Bill watched it dip toward the horizon, the fiery colors casting the sky all sorts of warm colors, highlighting the color of the sand, the color of Saul's hair.

Suddenly, Saul turned. "We better get into town," he said. "See what the new crop of people have done with the place."

**

Philip Brandon leaned back in his rack, shifting the phone against his ear. "I'm fine," he said, trying to get comfortable. "Miss you both, though."

"Mmm." Trish's voice was skeptical. "How's your back?" He could picture her in the kitchen. She probably had the phone balanced between her shoulder and her ear, using her free hands to wipe down the counter from dinner.

"Been sleeping on your side?" Cyrus probably had the bedroom extension. Brandon saw him stretched out on their bed, his head hanging off the side, twining the cord around his left hand.

"Yeah," said Brandon, moving onto his side, wincing at the pain. Being on his feet in CiC all day was beginning to catch up with him at his age. "My back's fine."

"Are you smoking?" Trish asked.

"No." Brandon put the lighter back on the shelf above his head and bit down on his unlit cigar.

"You sound busy," said Cyrus. "Is this a bad time?"

"I've been fielding a lot of calls from headquarters," said Brandon, contemplating his cigar. "We were a bit tied up. A lot of it's—"

"Classified," Trish and Cyrus said at the same time. He hated when they did that.

The three of them were silent for several moments.

"Are you really okay, Phil?" Trish asked finally.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm fine."

They weren't in the same room, but he could just see the look Trish and Cyrus would have been giving each other if they were.

"What are you two up to?" he asked, trying to get their attention off him.

"They didn't even tell us there'd been an accident," said Trish, without preamble. "We had to hear about it on the news, didn't we, Cyrus?"

"Fleet HQ probably made a mistake," said Brandon. _By saying it was an accident_ , he added silently. He reached for his lighter, flicked it absently. "They had to notify the families of the dead. Maybe they didn't have time to—"

"To tell us there'd been an explosion on our husband's ship?"

Brandon stopped. "Patricia…"

"Philip."

He sighed. "I'm sorry. I should've called earlier. You know you can't rely on the administration. They're a bunch of frakwits. …Sorry." He lit his cigar quietly and took a long drag, holding the phone away from his mouth. "My XO is missing."

"Missing?" Cyrus seemed confused. "How can he be missing? You're in space."

Brandon sighed. "It's… a long story." He took another drag, not caring if Trish or Cyrus could tell he was smoking. "I just know it's been crazy here without Adama."

"Adama?" said Trish suddenly. "He's not Joseph Adama's son, is he?"

Brandon paused.

"How many Adamas can there be?" said Trish. "What happened to him? I _know_ Joseph; I see him all the time."

Brandon sat up, rubbing his back. "It's under control," he said bluntly. He did not need families getting involved, not yet. Tigh was likely holding Adama for collateral, if he was holding him at all. The whole thing seemed fishy. Either way, it wasn't likely he'd kill him.

There were another few moments of silence. Finally, Trish said, "Cyrus is getting an award."

Cyrus sounded embarrassed. "Trish, don't bother him with that."

"When?" Brandon asked.

Cyrus sighed. "Junius 24."

"I'll be there."

"Phil, if you can't…"

"I want to. I should. I'm going to." He felt a lot more confident as he spoke. "You've both sacrificed so much for me, I just… I should do something for you, Cy."

That seemed to have gotten him off the hook for a little bit. Cyrus and Trish both sounded pleased.

"It's for that series he did on Tauron food," Trish continued. "Have you read that?"

Brandon glanced at the unread stack of _Caprican_ s by his bed. "Yes," he lied.

"I'll give you more details as I get them," said Cyrus. "Would you come home, or just…?"

"I'll get leave," said Brandon. "Two weeks. That'll cover our anniversary, too. Thirty years." He smiled, beginning to really look forward to it. "We should do something special."

Trish and Cyrus seemed appeased for now. They chatted for several more minutes, and Brandon was able to take his mind off his missing-person situation for a little while.

"So," said Cyrus, as the conversation was winding down. "Junius?"

"Junius," said Brandon firmly. "I'll see you then. I love you both."

"We love you, too," said Trish. "We're looking forward to seeing you."

Brandon signed off and hung up the phone. He lay there for a moment, puffing contemplatively. He knew where he'd go if he was on the run, but Tigh had no one besides Adama.

He just hoped this whole business would be over by Junius 24. He gripped his cigar between his teeth and reached for the first magazine on the stack. He flipped through it until he spotted Cyrus Brandon's column, settled comfortably back against his pillow and began to read.

**

"Do you think we've made the news?" Saul wondered aloud. They were back in the Raptor, changing their clothes for the trek into town.

"No," said Bill, stripping off his tanks and pulling a long-sleeved collared shirt over his head. "Even if Brandon reported us, Fleet command isn't going to want to let it slip that they let a terrorist run away with a hostage. They'll be looking for us, all right, but it'll be military only. They won't alert civilian law enforcement, but if Shore Patrol sees you, they'll shoot you on sight."

"Great," said Saul, shaking out his jeans and stepping into them. "Ain't you just a barrel of laughs. Can't believe you thought to bring a change of clothes."

"Having to get you out of scrapes has done wonders for my creative thinking skills," said Bill, exchanging his military-issue boots for hiking boots. "I figure we look like a couple of tourists out to do some exploring. That'll explain why we're headed for more rugged terrain and why we didn't come in with transport."

"Yeah," Saul agreed, tugging a wide-brimmed floppy hat down over his face. Hopefully, that wouldn't attract attention to him.

"You know anything about these little inns?" Bill asked, slinging his pack onto his shoulders

Saul shrugged. "They're for travelers. Or pubs, mostly. Nobody local stays there except to get drunk."

"Can you spot a friendly one?"

Saul bit his lip. "I wouldn't know anybody who's here now," he said. "The war would've wiped out anyone I grew up with. I wouldn't expect any of these people to have any connection to what was here before. Far as I know, I'm the only son of the Stoke who's still kicking."

They were mostly silent for the walk back to town; however, Saul couldn't quite get past some of the stuff that was weighing on him.

"Do you think we're it, Bill?" He almost regretted it as soon as he asked it. He hated thinking about this kind of stuff.

"Hm?" There wasn't any light beyond the stars, but he thought Bill looked confused.

"In the universe." Saul hiked his pack up on his back. "Do you think the Colonies are all there is?"

"Well." Bill paused. "If you believe in Earth. Thirteenth tribe."

Saul was thoughtful. "Probably not. Why would just they go off on their own, while the other twelve tribes stayed together?"

"I don't believe," said Bill. "It's a story. Allegory. To give people hope. So people like you look up at the stars and don't feel so alone."

Saul considered that. "I don't like to think about it," he said. "Because we aren't alone, there's the Cylons."

Bill didn't say anything.

"We've got enough trouble here," said Saul. "People killing each other, it's like they forget it was less than twenty years ago we had machines killing people."

Bill remained silent.

"And, gods, Bill, I think… who am I, to have survived that, all of it? I'm nobody."

"I wish you'd quit saying that."

He hadn't noticed Bill coming any closer until he felt an arm slide around his shoulders.

"You're lucky," said Bill, stopping them and looking Saul in the eyes. "You can think you're lucky, you can think you've been chosen by the gods, you can think it's a frakking coincidence. But what you're going to do is not feel sorry for yourself, not think about how it's you who should've died. You're going to live. You're going to do all the things they couldn't have done. And you're going to do them _well_."

Saul swallowed hard. "Yes, sir." He wasn't sure if he kissed Bill or if Bill kissed him, just that they were here, together, and Bill was potentially throwing everything away for him. For _him_. Whatever he'd done to deserve it. All Saul could do was kiss him as if his life depended on it.

"Now," said Bill, when they had parted, "I don't know about you, but I'm getting hungry."

  


  
[On to Chapter Nine](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/2732.html)   


  



	9. Smoke and Mirrors 9/16

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**Smoke and Mirrors 9/16**   
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[Back to Chapter Eight](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/2437.html)

  
The inn they finally settled on was near the edge of town and not particularly crowded. It had a rustic feel, despite being new and Saul didn't recognize the name. He felt a sudden pang of being an outsider, at seeing how his hometown had moved on without him or his family. And it wasn't like he could say anything, because they were trying to keep a low profile.

Bill gave his hand a firm squeeze. "I'll go get us a room," he said. "Why don't you get us a table?"

Saul dumped their gear by a table in the corner and tried to lie low while he watched Bill talk to the innkeeper. At first, Saul was afraid they didn't have any vacancies but after a few minutes, Bill walked away triumphantly with an old-fashioned key in his hand.

"We're really out in the sticks, it looks like," he said, pulling out the other chair and dropping into it.

Saul nodded and jumped when the girl brought them two mugs of beer. He avoided her gaze with a muttered thanks.

"Are people looking at us?" he asked, when she had gone.

Bill scanned the room. "Nope," he said. "No one pays any heed to the mysterious ginger-haired stranger and his devastatingly handsome companion."

Saul snorted. "You mean sidekick."

"Please," said Bill. "I'm not the sidekick. If anything we're partners. We're Howe and Doyle in _Appointment on Gemenon_."

"I think I saw that movie," said Saul, taking a sip of his beer. Good foamy Aerilon stuff. It was starting to feel good to be home. "That had Jack Bennett in it, right? Now _that_ is a devastatingly handsome guy. And who was the girl? Fiona Morrison. They sure don't make them like her anymore."

Bill rolled his eyes. "The _movie_ was terrible."

"Oh, you're one of _those_ ," Saul sniffed. "Think the book's better than the movie."

"The book _is_ better than the movie."

"Two stews?"

Saul jumped again as the waitress approached, but she didn't seem to notice. He looked down again.

"Two stews, right here," said Bill gruffly.

When she had gone, he gave Saul a little smile. "This is kind of fun."

"No frakking way," said Saul, tearing himself a chunk of crusty bread. "You're not going to turn my life into one of your detective stories."

"No, this is more interesting," said Bill. "More intrigue." He winked.

Saul rolled his eyes.

"…Fleet.."

Saul stiffened. "Shhh," he hissed at Bill.

"What?" asked Bill quizzically. For somebody who loved this kind of stuff, he sure wasn't observant, thought Saul.

Saul jerked his head over his shoulder at the men at the table behind them. "Don't look," he mouthed.

The two guys at the table behind them weren't keeping their voices down as they talked proudly about a certain friend of theirs—Harry they'd called him—who'd managed to go deep in what they called "that military job." The guys were planning to head down to Brede's Flat to hook up with the rest of their group.

Saul knew Brede's Flat well. It was a few klicks south of Langham Stoke, and was something of a gathering place for rabble-rousers in the area. Saul's mother had forbidden him from going there, which meant he'd gone there frequently.

"…they said it was _Columbia_ , right?"

Now Bill froze, his spoon halfway to his mouth. Saul tapped his nose. This could prove enlightening.

**

Brandon stared at the charts spread out on the central console, trying to pay attention to Lieutenant Clark and Lieutenant Fallon as they told him about the course _Columbia_ would be taking for the next several days. He shifted, bracing himself on the console against the pain in his back. He was grateful for the fairly restful night's sleep he'd had, but standing wasn't so kind on him today.

"Sir?" asked Clark.

"I'm fine, Lieutenant," said Brandon, shaking his head to clear out some of the cobwebs. "What have we got?"

"Sir, I've consulted with astrometrics." He nodded at Fallon. "The quickest way to reach Scorpion Fleet Shipyards is through here." Brandon watched his finger moving across the star chart, but it was pretty much meaningless to him. "It's the most efficient and the safest." He paused. "Sir, I think—"

The phone on the console rang. "Would you get that, Hunter?" said Brandon, glancing briefly up at Communications, before turning his attention back to the chart in front of him.

"Sir," Hunter said, after a moment, "it's aft damage control. Chief Randall says it's urgent."

Brandon scowled. "How urgent?"

"I really think you should take this, sir," she said. "They've found something." She swallowed hard. "It's… Sir, it's another bomb."

**

Saul was having trouble sleeping. Beside him, Bill was snoring softly, and Saul watched the rise and fall of his chest. He couldn't shake the nervy feeling he'd had ever since they'd checked in—hell, he'd had it since they'd landed on Aerilon.

They were on the right track, they had to be. The Aerilon Separatist Front had a man on _Columbia_ , or at least, that's how it had sounded based on the conversation of the two men who'd been sitting behind them.

Saul had tried his hardest not to look like he was eavesdropping, but he and Bill had sat there an awfully long time after they'd finished their meals before Bill had yawned theatrically and ushered them up to bed.

He closed his eyes and tried to relax. Bill had fallen asleep quickly, unsurprising given that he'd stayed up the previous night. Saul sighed. Maybe if he just rested his eyes…

They'd only been closed for what seemed like a second when he heard the door open.

Saul leapt out of bed and dove for Bill's pack on the floor, his thoughts on grabbing the gun. He'd always felt relatively safe here as a kid, but you could never know if a place was going to go downhill.

On the bed, Bill sat up groggily, looking disoriented. "Saul?" he asked confusedly.

Saul blinked.

No one else was in the room. The door was closed and locked. He supposed he'd just dreamed it.

"For the love of gods, Saul, come to bed," muttered Bill. "You want to get some sleep, don't you?"

Sighing, Saul tucked Bill's gun back into the pack and zipped it up. Maybe he _was_ feeling a little sleepy. Bill smiled contentedly as Saul lifted the sheet and climbed into bed with him.

"If you're not tired, I can think of some things we could do to pass time," Bill murmured.

Saul snickered as Bill's hand slid forward. "I'm game if you are."

They were interrupted as the door banged open and two men with guns stormed in.

**

Brandon stood in the doorway to the walkway where the bomb had been hidden, nervously watching the proceedings. They'd been lucky to find it in time to get the explosives expert in, but the poor deckhand who'd had the misfortune of brushing the bomb with her foot was in an unlucky position.

"Hold still, Specialist," he said to her, trying to keep his voice calm and firm. "You're going to be fine."

"Yes, sir," said O'Brian shakily. He couldn't see her, but it was just as well. Brandon wasn't sure he looked very reassuring. Petty Officer Purcell was in there with her, hopefully dismantling the bomb.

"Almost there," said Purcell soothingly. "You're almost there, O'Brian. Just hold still." Brandon wondered if they trained bomb specialists to talk like that.

O'Brian whimpered.

Brandon waited with bated breath. He knew Purcell had the training, but he'd never had to use it… and they had no idea when the bomb had been set to go off.

"How are we doing in there?" he called. His voice shook and he cursed himself. He wasn't supposed to fold under pressure.

"Just a few more wires, sir." Even Purcell sounded a little nervous. "Gotta do it in the right order. Every bomb's different."

Brandon took a deep breath, laid his hand against the wall. He had to sit down, needed to sit down. His back was killing him. "Mr. Clark, is the area clear?"

Clark nodded. "Yes, sir. It's just us back here."

Brandon glanced away from the lieutenant. "Purcell?"

"Almost there."

He closed his eyes. He'd never been religious, though he carried Cyrus's Ares medal because it made his husband happy. How many years ago had that been? Had to have been during the war that Cyrus had given it to him. For protection, he'd said. Patron god of soldiers. He reached into his pocket and curled his hand around it. _Lords of Kobol_ , he began, but he wasn't sure how to continue the prayer.

"There. Done," said Purcell, but he didn't sound wholly satisfied.

Everyone stayed perfectly still for a few seconds and then relaxed, all seeming to realize at once that they were still alive. Brandon let go of the medal. His arm felt stiff. He'd been holding it harder than he thought, he'd guessed.

O'Brian stumbled out of the passageway, looking releived. Chief Randall grabbed her and hugged her.

"You did it, Em, you did okay," she said, patting her on the back.

"Holy _frak_ , Chief." O'Brian looked happy, but exhausted.

Brandon took a deep breath. This wasn't over. "Petty Officer Purcell, sitrep."

Purcell emerged, the remnants of the bomb in his arms. "All in all, sir, it was pretty amateur," he said."May have been constructed on board. Like the bastard was hoping to take the whole ship out with the first one and needed an emergency backup. It was a simple job."

" _That_ was simple?" cried O'Brian.

"Get that to the lab," said Brandon. All of a sudden, he felt woozy. "Maybe they can get some… some… trace evidence. Maybe they can…"

The next thing he knew, he was sitting on the floor, Clark, Purcell, Randall and O'Brian crowded around him.

"Sir?"

He blinked, disoriented. "I'm okay, Mr. Clark." He accepted Randall's proffered hand and got to his feet. "Just a little dizzy. I'm fine now."

"Maybe you should go to sickbay, sir," said Clark.

"I'll be fine," said Brandon. "Purcell?"

"Right. Yes, sir. I'll check our stores. I checked yesterday, but something could have been taken overnight." He took off in the direction of the lab.

Brandon crossed his arms over his chest. Well, this sure seemed to point away from Tigh. Had he run, not because he was guilty, but because he'd been accused and had panicked?

Brandon hoped he wouldn't do anything rash.

**

"You're the guys from downstairs," said Saul, recognizing the intruders. He slid off the bed, his hands in the air.

"Yeah," said one of the men, who was holding his gun on Saul as he crouched over Bill's pack. "We don't take kindly to eavesdroppers," he added, removing Bill's gun from the bag and jamming it into the waistband of his pants.

"You're Fleet, eh?" The other guy pulled Saul's jacket out of his bag. He studied the patch on the shoulder. " _Columbia_ … Ray, isn't that the one?"

Ray nodded his assent. "Sure was, Frank."

"Well, frak me." He grabbed Saul's chin. "You a couple of investigators? We heard you were coming…" He dipped a hand into the neck of Saul's tanks and yanked his dog tags off. "Captain… Tigg."

"It's _Tigh_ ," spat Saul. "Tigh, Saul. Captain, battlestar _Columbia_. Tigh, Saul. Captain—"

Frank let go of him and threw his jacket at him. "That's enough of that," he said, holding the gun to his head again. "We'll send these up to your CO. Think he'd take the bait? Maybe be persuaded a little bit?"

"For me?" Saul snorted. "Like hell."

"Maybe for _Colonel Adama_ here, then," said Ray, finding Bill's dog tags in his pack. "We got ourselves a senior officer. That might give us some bargaining power."

"The Colonial Fleet does not negotiate with terrorists," said Bill calmly.

"We'll see how long you keep that mindset," he said, pushing the gun against the back of Bill's head. "Move."

Frank and Ray led Bill and Saul out of the inn and past the edge of town.

"I grew up here, you know," said Saul sharply.

"Yeah?" said Frank. "Well, I don't remember nobody named Tigh living in the area. What was your dad's name?"

"Leon. He worked on the irrigation project, down in the ditch. You seriously don't remember me?"

They had come to a small camp. There were a lot of men milling around, looking like they were playing soldier. Their guns were plenty real, though, and Saul got a nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach. This did not look good.

They forced Saul and Bill into a tent. It didn't look lived-in—there was a rusty old cot in the corner and a stake in the ground that extended just short of the top of the tent, clearly there for some other purpose than load-bearing.

Someone tossed Frank a pair of handcuffs and he slapped one end on Saul's wrist and the other end onto the stake, forcing Saul's hand above his head. Saul scowled. So that's what that was for.

"You going to be comforted if these guys remember you at thirteen?" Bill hissed in his ear.

Saul sighed. "I'm sorry, Bill. I'm just trying to… Frak if I know." He slid to the ground. "This is a bad situation."

"I know," said Bill gently.

Frank dropped down in front of them, stretching out casually. "Talking wouldn't do you much good now, boys," he said, lifting his gun and clicking the safety off. "You can hang out here, Captain. We're going to have a chat with the colonel."

"Hell no," said Saul. "We go together or we don't go at all."

Ray sneered. "You're not really in a position to make demands."

Saul leaned forward. "If you harm one hair on his head, I'll—"

The first bullet hit between his feet. Saul jumped. Frank clicked another round into the chamber. "Next one's a few inches higher," he said firmly. "I guarantee it won't be popular with your boyfriend."

Saul opened his mouth to say something. Frank cocked his gun again.

"Get the colonel," said Ray. "Darryl will want to talk to him."

"Nuh-uh-uh," said Ray as Saul tried to get up. "You stay right here. We're going to have some fun with your friend."

**

"Did a member of your group plant the bomb on _Columbia_?" Bill asked

"You're not the one who gets to ask the questions here," said Ray. They'd marched Bill to a makeshift lean-to on the other side of the campsite from where Saul was chained up. He hoped Saul could keep his cool.

Once inside, he was thrown to the ground, too quick to get a good bearing on his surroundings. He thought there were only two other guys in there with him, though. The place was pretty devoid of furnishings, just an old-fashioned desk and a rickety-looking chair. Like the tent they'd just left, the state of the packed dirt floor gave Bill the impression they'd been here a long time.

"So the bomb went off," said Ray, leaning in close. "It didn't take out the ship, but it went off."

Bill looked up defiantly. "Yeah. Your man failed."

"Shut your trap," snapped Ray.

"What do you want?" asked Bill, ignoring him. "Who's your leader? Who's your man on _Columbia_?"

"What do we want?" Ray said derisively. "We _want_ equality. We want a fair deal."

"You have a fair deal," said Bill. "Aerilon has a seat on the Quorum of Twelve. That's _twelve_. Each colony has one voice."

"Plus the President," said the other guy, a wiry fellow with three gold teeth—Darryl, presumably. "Who's from Caprica. Has _always_ been from Caprica."

"Reese was from Tauron," shot back Bill.

Darryl snorted. "Reese was adopted. He was born on Tauron and then adopted by rich parents from an orphanage when he was three. On _Caprica_."

"My _family_ is from Tauron," Bill added.

"And where were _you_ born?" Darryl prodded.

"Tauron, you frakking idiot," Bill lied. "And Captain Tigh's from Aerilon."

"Not bloody likely," said Ray. "I've never heard of anybody called Tigh. Do you think he _sounds_ Aerilon?"

"Maybe," said Bill, though he wasn't too sure. "A little. When he's tired. Drunk."

"We're _real_ Aerilon here. We represent the people."

"The people voted to accept the Articles!"

"That was almost thirty years ago!" shouted Ray. "Things change. We no longer need the protection of the Caprican military."

"You mean the Colonial military."

"Name one member of the high command who's from Aerilon."

"Then organize. Demonstrate peacefully. These kinds of tactics won't get you anywhere."

Ray clicked the safety on his gun. "Tell that to your commander. He has one hour now."

Bill spat on him.

**

"So," said Saul, making conversation. "Where are you from?" He casually stretched his legs out in front of him, bracing his back against the stake he was cuffed to. The least they could do was make him comfortable.

"None of your business." Frank was swinging that gun around a little too much for Saul's taste. Okay, a lot too much for Saul's taste.

"I'm from Langham Stoke," said Saul. "Or I was. Before the toasters got it."

"Yeah, right." Frank looked incredulous. "My cousins lived there. I went there all the time. You gotta prove it."

Saul racked his brain. "Stella Ludden. Lived next door to us."

"Don't remember the name."

"She had legs from here to Picon." Saul grinned. "And she used to sunbathe naked."

"You're kidding me."

"No frakking way."

Frank snickered. "Well, I'll be frakked. You got an eyeful?"

"Best thing that ever happened to twelve-year-old me." Saul smirked. "Come on over here. I'll tell you a story. It's a good one, promise."

"About Stella?"

"And her friend Bethany."

Frank let out a low whistle and leaned in. Saul threw all his weight toward Frank. The stake tipped forward.

"Oi!" Frank shouted before the stake smacked him right on the head. In the few seconds he spent dazed, Saul yanked the other side of his handcuffs through the stake and swung hard, landing the end of the stake in the center of Frank's stomach, knocking the wind out of him as he tried to get to his feet. He dropped his gun and Saul grabbed it, pointed it at him.

"Give me back my dog tags," he said coldly, holding out his hand. "I worked my frakking ass off for those. Give 'em back."

Frank just stared at him, blood dripping from his lip.

Saul thumbed off the gun safety.

Frank quickly reached into his pockets. He handed Saul both his and Bill's tags and he hung both sets around his neck, clumsily due to the extra weight from the handcuffs.

"You gonna move?" he asked Frank.

Frantically, Frank shook his head.

"Good." Saul pushed aside the tent flap and stalked off in the direction they'd taken Bill. All he had to do was spring him and then get the frak off this planet.

He'd gotten about two-hundred feet when he heard the gunshots, accompanied by a familiar cry of pain.

Saul started to run.

  


  
[On to Chapter Ten](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/3063.html)   
  



	10. Smoke and Mirrors 10/16

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**Smoke and Mirrors 10/16**   
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[Back to Chapter Nine](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/2732.html)

  
Bill's thigh was throbbing and he couldn't feel his right leg. "Frak," he groaned, leaning back and wincing in pain.

"You better be sorry, you frakking dirt-eater." Ray had his gun to Bill's forehead, pressing hard.

Bill's response was to spit on him again.

"Oh, you're asking for it." Ray cocked his gun and Bill made a quick mental apology to Saul, Lee, Zak, CarolAnne… he'd let them down, he didn't want to leave them, wanted tell them…

There was a bang. Bill was surprised by how little dying hurt. Obviously, his leg hurt but he'd have expected what with being shot in the head that that might hurt, too.

It was only then that he registered Ray slumped over him.

And Saul standing behind him, gun arm outstretched.

"What took you so long?" Bill wheezed.

"Shut the frak up," said Saul. He spun and clipped Darryl upside the head with the butt of the gun. He went down like a sack of potatoes. "Come on, we gotta go."

Bill tried to get up but he stumbled, grabbing Saul's tanks. "Motherfrakker shot me," he managed. "Leg."

"Godsdammit," muttered Saul. "I got you." He knelt, slinging Bill's arm around his shoulders, keeping the arm hampered by the cuffs around Bill's middle while his gun arm was free. "Here." He grabbed Ray's gun and shoved it into Bill's other hand. "You got that?"

"Sure," said Bill. He was feeling kind of woozy, but he tightened his fingers around the handgrip. Finding the trigger, on the other hand, didn't seem that easy, and he doubted he had the strength to get off a shot.

They stumbled out of the lean-to and immediately had to dodge gunfire. Bill couldn't tell how many people there were, weaving around tents and shouting orders to each other in the darkness. They both went down and for one terrified second, Bill thought Saul had been shot, too. He lost his grip on the gun. It went skittering off into the darkness and before he could reach for it, Saul was on his feet again, dragging Bill away into the night.

He wasn't sure whether they stopped following or if Saul had managed to evade them. He wouldn't have pegged Saul as being able to run and pretty much carry Bill at the same time. He supposed he had more endurance than he gave him credit for. Next time they had a Dance on _Columbia_ , Bill would have to put a few cubits down on him.

It must have been two miles back to the Raptor, but Saul was practically sprinting the whole way. Maybe it was the blood loss playing with his head, though. Bill was beginning to lose track of what was going on.

"Stay with me, Bill," he heard Saul say. He registered being dropped to the floor of the Raptor, registered Saul chucking off his jacket and digging around in the medkit.

The last thing he remembered before everything went black was Saul leaping over him and hurling himself into the pilot's seat.

**

"We're getting the frak out of here, Bill," said Saul. "Getting you back to _Columbia_. Nothing I can do for you." He swallowed hard. "So you hang in here until we get there. Doc Winters'll take care of you."

Bill groaned.

This wasn't the ideal first real application of his Raptor training—doing both pilot's and ECO's jobs while a mob was bearing down on him. Talking to himself made it easier, provided the illusion that he was talking to Bill.

"Okay," he said thumbing through the book. "Let's give them two days of drift… Haven't had to calculate jump coordinates since my written final at OCS."

Bill may have laughed, but he wasn't sure. He decided to think of it as laughter.

A bullet pinged off the side of the Raptor. "Shit." Saul scrambled for the controls. "Change of plans. We're getting up there first."

This had to be the slowest-to-power-up Raptor in the history of the Colonial Fleet.

"Where we… going?" Bill's voice was quiet.

"Home, Bill," said Saul quietly. "We're going home."

They lifted off and Saul reached for the book, hurriedly doing math. He didn't hate math as much as some people did, but with his hands shaking, it was harder to write the numbers.

When he went back to set the jump coordinates, he knelt to feel Bill's forehead. He was burning up.

Saul unbuttoned Bill's jacket, tried to peel off his pants, but his right thigh was such a bloody mess, he decided that wasn't a good idea.

"We'll get you help, okay, Bill?" he murmured, brushing back his sweat-soaked hair. "Real soon." He glanced nervously at the clock. Two minutes to jump, assuming they had the right calculations. Maybe five minutes to land, depending on who was filling in for him. Best case scenario, they'd have a stretcher team waiting when he set down. Then maybe five more minutes to get to sickbay.

"It's gonna be okay, Bill," he whispered, kissing his forehead. "Everything's really gonna be okay."

**

Brandon was feeling better after his earlier episode. He'd slept pretty well that night, given the circumstances and was tentatively ready to face another day standing in CiC.

Hopefully, an _uneventful_ day.

"Good morning, sir," said Clark, saluting, when Brandon entered.

He returned the salute. "Good morning, Mr. Clark. What do we have here?"

"I analyzed the bomb," said Purcell, coming around the central console. "Sir, I do believe it was constructed on board _Columbia_. It's a fairly simple design; things someone could get around the ship, or could've been brought on without much suspicion."

"Have you seen about securing supply stores?"

"I did that, sir. It seems some things were missing."

Brandon paled. "How much?"

Clark took over. "It looks like it could be enough for more than one bomb." He paused. "Two, maybe three."

Brandon sighed. "So there might be at least one more."

"Dradis contact!" announced Hunter suddenly.

"What is it?" snapped Brandon. Even after all these years, his first thought was always Cylons. Always.

"I'm checking…" She tapped a few keys. "It's definitely Colonial. It's…" She paused. "It's Raptor 419, sir. The one Tigh took."

Brandon grabbed the phone. "Patch me in. I want him brought in by a Viper escort. Now."

**

The wireless bleeped and Saul immediately answered.

" _Columbia_ , Jinx," he said. "Request permission to land."

"This is Actual," Brandon growled. "You'd better have a good explanation, Captain."

Saul fought to keep his voice from shaking. He knew he was in trouble, but it didn't matter now. "I have a medical emergency, sir. I have Colonel Adama onboard. He's been wounded. It's pretty bad."

He could see _Columbia_ was launching Vipers. Crap, this was bad. There was a long pause on Brandon's end and Saul felt his stomach tighten.

"Jinx, _Columbia_." That was Hunter's voice. "Request authorized. Look to your escorts. We'll have a medical team ready and waiting on the hangar deck when you land."

Saul sighed, somewhat relieved. "Roger, _Columbia_."

"Jinx, Goober, we're your chaperones this morning." He sounded slightly amused. "You have fun on your little fieldtrip?"

"I'm sure you'll hear all about it, Goober," said Saul. "Jinx out." He clicked off his headset, turned to look at Bill. He was very pale. "Gonna be okay, Bill. You're gonna be okay."

Saul felt really stupid bringing his Raptor in with Goober and Jumpshot on either side of him. What did they think he was going to do?

Thankfully, Hunter had been right about the medical team. He'd just gotten the hatch open when they appeared on the gangplank, two medics carrying Bill down to a stretcher and whisking him away, without even a word to Saul.

Slowly, Saul got to his feet and grabbed his jacket from the back of his seat, shrugging it on. On second thought, he buttoned it up, tucking his and Bill's dog tags under his collar. He spat on his hand, ran it through his hair, trying to at least give it some semblance of order.

Of course, he had so much of Bill's blood on him that it probably didn't matter if he hadn't combed his hair in three days. He looked like a mess anyway. Plus, the handcuffs still dangling from his wrist weren't exactly the fashion statement of the year.

When he stepped down from the Raptor, it seemed like every pilot and deckhand on _Columbia_ was standing there, staring at him.

Saul surveyed them slowly. No one said anything. No one moved.

"Anybody interested in a post-flight checklist?" he snapped. "Come on, you knuckledraggers, let's go!"

"Yes, sir!" O'Brian darted forward, though she didn't quite meet his eyes. "Any problems with the bird, sir?"

Saul snorted. "Takeoff's a little slow. You'll also want to check the hull integrity. She took a couple bullets."

O'Brian paled, stared at him as he stalked off.

"I'll take a look at that, sir," she stammered.

"Not so fast, Jinx," he heard a voice behind him. A voice that instinctively made his hand curl into a fist, though he knew he had to control his temper. He couldn't get himself into more trouble now.

"Major Mueller," he said curtly, turning. He saluted. It was killing him to follow protocol like this, but he took satisfaction in not giving Mueller _anything_. He couldn't even go to Brandon and say Saul hadn't called him sir.

He just wanted to get to sickbay, check on Bill. He'd been so pale, lost so much blood.

"You'll report to the brig, Captain," said Mueller.

"Excuse me?" asked Saul, instantly forgetting his resolution to call Mueller "sir."

Mueller crossed his arms over his chest. "You were confined to the brig before your little jaunt. Now that you're back, you'll return. Immediately."

Saul bristled. The brig was the last place he wanted to be. He wanted a shower, a change of clothes, some rack time, to see Bill… He curled his lip. "Sir, I—"

"No buts, Captain." Mueller's face was set. "Brig. Now. March!"

Saul jammed his hands in his pockets to keep from giving Mueller a rude gesture. Instead, he turned on his heel and headed for the brig.

**

Brandon sat at his desk, studying Doc Winters's report. Adama would be fine. The wound wasn't serious, and he was young, healthy. He'd lost some blood, but he'd be back on his feet in a day or so.

Something was niggling at the back of his mind and he flipped the page. The doc had extracted the bullet, and it wasn't from a military-issue piece.

He'd known in his gut since he'd heard Adama had been shot that Tigh likely hadn't done it. Despite what Carson insisted, despite what Mueller kept saying, Brandon didn't think he was capable of it. He hadn't planted the bombs, and even though he'd run, Brandon still didn't think he'd shoot the only friend he had.

He pushed the folder away and rested his head on his hands. Tigh was cooling his heels in the brig, but for what, exactly?

Sighing, Brandon got to his feet and shrugged on his jacket. He supposed he'd better go talk to the kid and straighten a thing or two out.

**

Saul sat in the brig, again, staring at the same wall as he had been before. He'd stripped off his bloody jacket, which reminded him he still had Bill's dog tags. He lifted them, examining them closely.

"Come on, Bill," he murmured under his breath. "You can pull through. It was just a flesh wound, gotta be."

The door swung open and Saul jumped, tucking both tags back under his collar.

It was Brandon.

Saul and the guard both jumped to their feet.

"At ease, Captain." Brandon turned to the guard. "Take a break, Corporal."

"Yes, sir." The marine saluted and left the room. Brandon took his chair and dragged it over to Saul's cell, collapsed into it.

"Sir," said Saul tentatively, "may I ask how B—Colonel Adama is?"

"He'll be fine, son," said Brandon and Saul was struck by the term. "You two have been through a lot in the past few days it seems."

Saul remained silent.

"You want to tell me what happened?" Brandon asked. He looked older than Saul remembered, grayer, more drawn.

"Yes, sir." Saul took a deep breath, but he decided to just do it. "It was Colonel Adama's idea, sir. He was just trying to help me, sir, as a friend."

"Colonel Adama orchestrated your escape."

"Yes, sir." Saul straightened up and put his hands behind his back. "But it was for me, sir. I don't want him to be held accountable. He wouldn't have done it if not for me."

Brandon ran a hand through his hair. "Captain Tigh," he said calmly. "I'm not going to allow you to take the fall for William Adama."

"Sir, please—"

"Because I'm not going to punish Adama. I'm not going to punish you, either."

Saul felt his stomach twist. "Sir, the investigation…"

Brandon got to his feet and began to pace. "Some evidence has presented itself since your departure, Captain."

Saul squared his stance. "We were looking for evidence, sir. Colonel Adama was trying to help me…" He swallowed. "Help me clear my name. We found out it was ASF, they have a man here on _Columbia_. That's how Bill, the colonel, that's how he got shot." He related their time on the planet to Brandon.

Brandon listened placidly. Finally, he said, "There was a bomb found while you were gone."

Saul's mouth dropped open. "Any damage, sir?"

"No, thankfully we discovered it in time to disarm it. Petty Officer Purcell then determined it had been constructed on board _Columbia_. The completed bomb wasn't brought in with the cargo, Tigh. You did nothing wrong."

Saul felt his legs buckle, but he managed to stay standing. "Sir."

"You're cleared, Captain. You're free to go." Brandon reached over and opened his cell. "Stop by my quarters later and I'll give you your things back." Saul just stared in disbelief.

"But, sir, Major Mueller. I struck a superior officer."

"Yes, that reminds me." Brandon smiled thinly. "When Colonel Adama is well, I want to speak to all three of you. We need to clear some things up."

**

It felt good to be free. Saul hadn't realized how much being under suspicion had been weighing on him until Brandon had told him he was clear. His first stop was the hangar deck to get Chief Randall to cut the cuffs off him. His second stop was a shower.

He was still in the head when Lucy found him.

"Where the frak were you?" she asked, hugging him from the side.

"Hey, watch it." Saul held his razor away from his neck. "You could've killed me."

"What happened while you were gone?" she asked, pulling back and crossing her arms over her chest.

"You go first," he told her pointedly. "What's this about a bomb?"

"No way, Saul. You first. Where did you go?"

"Aerilon," he said matter-of-factly, going back to his shave.

"Aerilon," she repeated.

"ASF," he said. "They're responsible. And they knew we were coming. We've got someone on board _Columbia_ giving them intel. And that someone must've planted the bomb."

"Bomb _s_ ," said Lucy. "There's at least one more."

Saul nicked himself. "Frak." He turned to look at Lucy. "You're kidding."

"I wish I was." She told him about the previous day's events.

"Damn," murmured Saul, tapping his razor against the side of the sink. "And I thought Bill and I were in trouble down on the planet."

As he finished shaving, he told her an edited version of their adventures on Aerilon.

"Is the XO okay? How bad was he hit?"

"Commander told me he'd be fine." Saul wiped the excess lather off his face. "I trust him."

Saying that sounded funny. But, yeah, he trusted Brandon.

"What're you up to now?" she asked as he finished getting dressed.

"Sickbay," he said, taking one last look in the mirror at the two sets of tags around his neck before buttoning his clean jacket over them.

Lucy smiled at him. "I knew I didn't have to ask."

**

"What're you doing, taking a break?" Saul asked as he plopped onto the chair beside Bill's bed.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," said Bill, smiling. "Heard you did some pretty fancy flying out there. Chief said she pulled three bullets out of the Raptor."

Saul looked abashed. "I could've avoided those last two. I was too busy running around while my ECO was lying down on the job."

Bill chuckled. "You did good, Saul. I owe you my life."

Saul looked away. "Doubt that," he said gruffly, though Bill could see the worry melting away from his face.

Bill smiled and looked down at his hospital gown. "I really owe you now."

"Oh, yeah?" Saul looked down at him and grinned suggestively. "What kind of favors are you willing to offer?"

Bill smirked. "When I get back on my feet, I'll show you."

"How bad was it, anyway?"

"Not bad," Bill reassured him. "Doc says I'll be up in no time. Just got this bullet in my leg. I think I'm going to miss our morning runs for a while."

"I'm heartbroken," said Saul, smirking.

**

The next morning, Saul found himself sitting in the LSO's station before reveille had even sounded. Somehow, being in his duty uniform for the first time in several days made him sit up a little straighter—or maybe, he reflected, it was just Bill's dog tags around his neck. Every time he remembered they were there, he realized he should drop by sick bay and return them, but every time he remembered they were there, he didn't want to give them back. He wasn't sure why, but they somehow made him feel better.

"How does that look?" Randall asked, leaning in the doorway. "O'Brian did that, actually."

"Really," Saul remarked, glancing down at the flight log he was flipping through. O'Brian's small, cramped letters marked the activity for the last few days, starting after Bill's neat handwriting from that day Saul had spent in hack. "She's good. Maybe I should keep an eye out; looks like somebody's gunning for my job."

Randall grinned. "You started out down here, didn't you? Give 'em something to shoot for."

Saul chuckled. "Seems like it was so long ago, I'm not sure it happened." He reached for his pen. "Guess logging yesterday is my responsibility."

It felt weird to write one of his own flights in the logbook, and he stared for a long time at the notation, _Raptor 419, Capt. S. Tigh (Jinx)/Col. W. Adama (Husker)_. He frowned at it for a moment before adding _Husker injured_ to the Notes column.

"Hey, Jinx?"

He jumped. Ratchet was standing in the doorway. "You got a minute?"

"Sure, sure." Saul turned, laying the logbook aside. "What do you need?"

"Just wanted to say hi," he said. "And welcome back to duty." He held out his hand and Saul shook it.

It was a little weird, he thought. He was good friends with Lucy, but he'd never talked to Ratchet. He'd figured her ECO was just a quiet guy. Not that weird—he'd play cards sometimes with the others, but he didn't talk a lot.

He held on to Saul's hand a little too long, but he released it before Saul raised an eyebrow. Ratchet leaned over the logbook. "Good to have you back," he said, clapping Saul on the back. "

Saul jammed his hands into his pockets. "Nothing too interesting up here. Just doing some housekeeping."

"Okay," he said, straightening up again. "I'll leave you to it. Give the XO my regards."

"Sure," said Saul. He watched him go and flopped back into his seat. It was true, what they said about how there were some people you could only be friends with through other friends.

**

It wasn't so bad with the morpha. He slept a lot. Yeah, getting his temperature taken was undignified, especially when Saul snickered every time Doc Winters shooed him out. But Saul brought him books from his quarters, though none was the one he was in the middle of.

He was grateful for that, at least, since Saul's visits fell off when he went back to work. Bill was glad Saul was working, liked the look of him in duty blues.

For his part, Bill just wanted to _walk_.

It had been two days since their return. Brandon had come to see him, giving him briefings. It may have been his imagination, but Bill thought Brandon looked a little strained, having to do all the work himself. Which is why Bill was looking forward to getting back on his feet.

"Come on, sir, get up, sir."

Bill opened one eye.

Saul was standing over him, grinning.

He sat up. "What?"

"I brought you something." He held out a cane and he had a uniform for Bill under his arm. "Brandon wants to see us."

"Us?" Bill gingerly edged his way to side of the bed and Saul handed him the cane. He swung slowly forward, leaned on his good leg and tried to stand.

He would have toppled forward if Saul hadn't caught him.

"That's what I get for not standing for two days," said Bill darkly. "Even my good leg's bum."

"You'll get the hang of it," said Saul.

"When's he want to see us?" Bill asked, taking a few tentative steps away from Saul's reach.

"When you're up."

Bill turned. "I'm up. Give me my clothes."

Bill managed to get dressed mostly on his own, only having to lean on Saul a little bit to put his boots on.

"Tags," said Bill, patting his pockets. "Where are my tags?"

"Oh." Saul flushed and didn't meet Bill's eyes. "I've got them." He looked somewhat sheepish as he unbuttoned his jacket. He paused briefly, disentangling Bill's dog tags from his own and pulled them off over his head.

"I just sort of grabbed them when I grabbed mine," he continued gruffly, looking at them once more before dropping them into Bill's outstretched palm.

Bill looked down at them. They felt warm in his hand from being against Saul's chest. Bill wasn't sure he entirely disliked that. "You've had 'em the whole time?" An image of Saul wearing Bill's dog tags while he worked, while he slept, all day, yesterday and today, came to his mind.

"Sorry," Saul said quietly, jamming his hands into his pockets and looking down at his feet. His stance reminded Bill of how Lee looked when he'd gotten caught sneaking a cookie before dinner. "I'd have given them back to you right away." He shrugged. "I just sort of… forgot." He reached up and scratched behind his ear.

Bill smiled. "It's all good." He hung them around his neck, tucking them beneath his collar. "Thanks," he added. He reached out and squeezed Saul's shoulder firmly. "I appreciate it."

Saul met his eyes. His face softened, split into an infectious grin. "Don't mention it," he said.

"Okay," said Bill, smirking. He reached up and ruffled Saul's hair, loving the scowl that elicited. "I won't."

  


  
[On to Chapter Eleven](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/3159.html)   
  



	11. Smoke and Mirrors 11/16

_  
**Smoke and Mirrors 11/16**   
_   
[Back to Chapter Ten](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/3063.html)

  
Bill decided to take the cane with him to Brandon's quarters—if only because it made him faster. It was hard to keep up with Saul—he always walked faster when he was nervous.

"You have any idea what he wants?" he asked, trying very hard to walk and not hobble.

Saul shook his head and quickened his pace.

"You okay?" Bill asked.

"Me?" Saul nodded, eyes unfocused. "Yeah. I'm okay."

When they reached Brandon's quarters, Mueller was already there. The major stood when Bill entered and Bill nodded to him as he made his way over to the three chairs in front of Mueller's desk. Saul sat on Bill's other side, wordlessly taking the cane from him.

"It's good to see you back on your feet, Colonel," said Brandon calmly.

"Thank you, sir," said Bill. "It's nice to be able to get out of sickbay."

Brandon folded his hands. "I'm glad we're finally back to our full staff level." He gave Mueller a pointed look and stood. "But before we resume our normal duties, there's something I would like to speak to you three about.

"Gentlemen," he said calmly, and Bill's instinct was to sit up a little straighter. "Misunderstandings have a way of getting out of hand." Brandon began to pace. "I think we've all been the victim of a misunderstanding, all four of us. It's insidious, the way doubt is able afflict people who are supposed to trust each other. People who work together. Serve together. Colonel Adama. Major Mueller. Captain Tigh. You are all shipmates, as am I. Us and over four thousand other people. But people look to _us_ for support, for guidance."

Bill swallowed hard. Beside him, Saul twitched.

"Gentlemen, we've let our crew down."

Brandon's words hung heavily in the air and Bill hated them, hated the reminder, the implication that he'd done anything that wasn't in the best interest of the people under his command.

"Two of you have been _missing_ for two days. Ran off, deserted your posts." Brandon narrowed his eyes. "Under normal circumstances, Colonel, Captain, that would be _unforgiveable_. I could space the two of you right now and the Admiralty would probably give me a slap on the wrist." Brandon looked at Saul, stared him right in the eyes, sizing him up. Then, he leveled his gaze at Bill. There was anger in his eyes, but behind that, disappointment. Bill suddenly very strongly regretted that he'd let the older man down.

"Sir, I—"

"Quiet!" Brandon barked, and Bill instantly sat at attention. Saul and Mueller both jumped. "You'll have a chance to speak for yourself later. Right now, _I'm_ talking." He looked at Saul and Mueller. Neither said a word. Brandon pursed his lips.

"You abandoned your posts, but it was my fault. While you are still responsible for your actions, I can't punish you, because I was ultimately responsible myself for allowing this to get out of hand."

He fixed his gaze on Mueller. "Major Mueller, you let extreme personal biases get in the way of an investigation you were heading. An investigation that wasted valuable time barking up the wrong tree because you have a personal beef with Captain Tigh."

For the first time, Bill noticed Mueller looked uncomfortable. Saul smirked.

"You're not off the hook yet, Captain," said Brandon, not taking his eyes off Mueller. "You provoked him. You provoked each other. Major Mueller is your superior officer. You need to treat him like one. And Colonel, you need to learn that Captain Tigh can get himself to the bathroom without you holding his hand."

Bill felt his ears burn, but he resisted the urge to say something, as Brandon moved on to Saul.

"Captain."

Saul stiffened.

"I've read your service record. Several times. It's far from clean." Saul's jaw tightened. "But under all of the disobedience, the disorderly conduct, there's a good officer under there. I know that because Colonel Adama obviously trusts you, and I trust him. I listened to his recommendation that I put in for your transfer and place you in the position you're in now. Don't make me regret that."

Bill was half-expecting Saul to look away, but he raised his eyes to meet Brandon's. "No, sir," he said firmly. "I won't let you down."

"Good," said Brandon. He took a step back. "Gentlemen, you are officers in the Colonial Fleet. Act like it."

"Yes, sir," they all managed.

"Every one of us had a lapse in judgment these past few days." Brandon took his seat again, reached immediately for a glass of water. "I'm not asking you to pretend that none of this happened. I'm asking you to understand that each one of you made mistakes, as all people do. Consider each other's mistakes before placing blame. I can't afford to lose any one of you right now. You're dismissed."

**

Saul's heart was hammering in his ribcage as he left Brandon's quarters. Mueller disappeared without a word to either of them, but Saul wanted to wait for Bill.

"I'm fine," said Bill, waving off his offer of an arm to lean on. "I'm really not any slower than you, provided you don't start running." He indicated the cane. "This is really just a third leg. You could say I have an advantage."

Saul made a skeptical noise. "Mmhm. You going back on duty tomorrow?"

Bill shrugged. "I think that's what Brandon was telling me, yeah."

Saul grinned. "Real subtle, huh?"

Bill met his eyes and held them as he grinned back. "I'm going back to my quarters," he said. "You… interested in joining me?"

Saul let his grin turn into a smirk. "Sure… You up to it?"

Bill raised an eyebrow. "Of course I am."

He opened the hatch and Saul followed him in. "You want anything to drink?" he asked, reaching for the bottle on the coffee table.

"You bet your ass," said Saul.

Bill rolled his eyes and slid Saul his glass across the table. "I'm limiting you to three, so drink slow."

Saul made a face, but he knocked it back anyway, relishing the bite of the alcohol in the back of his throat.

"What's on your mind?" Bill asked, easing himself onto the couch, leaning the cane against the wall.

Saul sat down next to him, contemplated his empty glass. "This isn't over, I was just thinking. This whole thing. It wasn't me; who was it?"

"I'm sure the investigation won't stop," said Bill. "We need to find the culprit."

"The other bombs," said Saul.

Bill blinked. "How did you—?"

"Heard it from Bubbles." He got up and refilled his drink.

Bill frowned. "We were trying to keep it quiet. You weren't supposed to know."

Saul took a sip. "For frak's sake, Bill, it's _me_. You can't fault Lucy for telling me."

"She wasn't supposed to."

Saul rolled his eyes and topped off his glass. "I doubt she told anyone else. She's not a blabbermouth."

"Where'd she tell you?" Bill asked.

"We were in the head. Nobody else was around."

"You check?"

Saul rolled his eyes. "She came in while I was getting out of the shower. Whole time we were in there, I didn't see anyone else." He drained his glass, went to pour a third.

"You didn't _see_ anyone else," said Bill evenly.

He shrugged. "I'm pretty sure nobody else was in there. Sure as I can be."

Bill folded his hands. "I need you to be certain."

Saul scowled, took another sip. "Frakking hell, Bill! How'm I supposed to remember?"

"You could've made sure you weren't discussing _sensitive information_ in the frakking head," Bill spat.

"She just blurted it out!" Saul took a swig. "If you're so pissed about it, go yell at her." He gestured with his glass, spilling some on his sleeve.

"I'm not yelling at _you_ ," said Bill, in that irritatingly calm-yet-stern voice he had that drove Saul nuts. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to smack him or frak him.

"Sure sounds like you are," he muttered, draining his glass. He knew he was being ornery, but he didn't care. He reached for the bottle and poured himself a fourth full drink.

"Hey," said Bill sharply, getting to his feet and reaching for the glass. "That's enough."

"You're not my dad," said Saul, taking a long, defiant sip.

"What the hell is with you?" Bill sounded baffled. He reached for the glass again and this time, Saul relented.

"What the hell's with _you_?" Saul shot back hotly. "Why are you trying to keep me out of the loop?"

"I'm not trying to keep you out of the loop." Bill rubbed his eyes like he was getting a headache. "You know how much trouble keeping you in the loop can get me in? You're a junior officer and I'm your superior."

Saul crossed his arms over his chest. "You should've thought of that before you started frakking me."

Bill sighed. "Go to bed, Saul. Get some sleep. This is stressing us all out."

"Fine," said Saul waspishly. "Sorry, _sir_." He stalked to the hatch and yanked it open. "There I go again, screwing things up."

Bill rolled his eyes. "I'll drink to that," he muttered.

Saul nearly dislocated his shoulder doing it but it was pretty frakking satisfying to slam that hatch.

**

Bill woke the next morning, alone and annoyed. Not annoyed that he was alone—he was still mad enough that waking up next to Saul didn't sound appealing.

It seemed stupider in the light of day, though, Bill realized as he stared at his reflection while he was brushing his teeth. Sure, Brandon had berated him, and he felt frustrated that he'd messed up, but he didn't need to be taking it out on Saul. Saul was a moron, but he was _his_ moron, and he just wanted to help.

Bill didn't take the cane with him to CiC. He was operating under the pretense that he'd forgotten it. He didn't really need it, he soon found. He was just a little slower, a little stiffer.

"Good morning, Colonel." Brandon's voice jolted Bill out of his reverie.

Bill had to pause to salute; he hadn't even noticed he'd needed a hand on the wall to steady himself on the stairs. "Good morning, sir."

"It's good to have you back," said Brandon. Bill was about to attempt to quicken his pace to keep up with Brandon, but instead, Brandon slowed to match him. "How's the leg?"

"Getting better," said Bill. He added, "I've had worse."

Brandon smiled. "You're young. You'll recover quickly."

Bill wasn't sure how young he was—definitely not as young as he'd once been, when he'd been wounded before, in combat. But he supposed he was young to Brandon. He realized then that he had no idea if Brandon had fought in the war. Surely he had.

As if he had read Bill's mind, he continued, "I almost _lost_ my leg in the war. My Viper got shot up real bad. Spent a long time in rehab. Would up teaching at Officer Candidate School… we'd have just missed each other, probably."

Bill nodded in acknowledgement. He contemplated sharing his story of being shot down, on the last day of the war, but it was a hard one to share. At least, it was a hard one to edit on the spot, and he usually didn't share the unedited version.

Brandon changed the subject. "I'd like to run a search of the ship today," he said. "Go a bit deeper." He paused. "I think we may have to search lockers, quarters."

"Sir," Bill began.

"I know," said Brandon, looking sad. "I don't like it very much either. I just worry what will become of us if we don't intensify the search. We may not be looking for a completed bomb, just yet. Someone may be working on it, may have stashed the stolen materials somewhere."

Bill frowned. "And if there is a bomb, sir?"

Brandon looked grim. "Then we'll have to find it in time. I've been in contact with HQ. We can't jump with the damage we sustained in the first bomb, and the asteroid field makes it impossible to jump in a second battlestar. _Triton_ is waiting for us on the other side, but that's a few days out."

They reached CiC and the marine guard opened the door for them. Bill glanced surreptitiously around but it seemed like most of the crew was trying to pretend he hadn't been gone for several days.

He took his customary position across the console from Brandon, trying to make the hand he had resting on it look casual and not necessary to his balance.

"Good morning, sirs," said Clark, coming over to them. The only extra acknowledgement he gave Bill was a curt nod following his salute.

"Mr. Clark, what's our ETA to Scorpia now?" Bill asked.

Clark consulted his clipboard. "Five days at the best, sir."

Bill frowned. "Will that give us time, Commander?"

Brandon looked thoughtful. "We'll quarantine the crew if we haven't found the culprit by the time we get to Scorpia," he said in a low voice. "Cancel all shore leave; confine them to base."

"That won't be popular," said Bill.

Brandon set his expression. "Then we'll have to find out who's responsible before five days are up. I won't just round up everyone from Aerilon. I want to be thorough We need all the resources at our disposal to get through this with as much speed as possible, with as little noise as possible."

Bill took a deep breath. Oh, this was killing him. The bastard better be grateful. "Sir, I think you should consider expanding the loop."

**

"'Morning, Saul."

Saul looked up from the papers he was going through. "Oh, hey, Luce."

Lucy entered the LSO's station and sat in the other chair, shaking her hair back from her face. "So, did you hear about Brandon's new plan?"

"No," said Saul. "Unless Brandon's new plan is Brandon's old plan." _Thanks a lot, Bill_ , he thought. _Now frakking Lucy's my informant_.

Lucy snorted. "I thought being pals with the XO would have some advantages."

Saul shook his head, trying to hide his bristle. "Nope," he drawled. "Colonel Adama does not keep me apprised of classified information, nor do I keep him apprised of every little mundane-as-frak thing that goes on down here."

Lucy rolled her eyes and pulled her hair into a ponytail. "Rumor mill has it that they're going to be looking in lockers. Everybody gets searched, I guess. They're looking for the third bomb, the missing supplies."

Saul snapped a binder shut and replaced it under the console. "Well, let me tell you, it does not matter one _lick_ to me. If they want to dig through my old socks and dirty magazines, let 'em."

Lucy opened her mouth but she was cut off by the crackle of the PA system.

"Pass the word. Captain Tigh, report to the CiC, Captain Tigh, report to the CiC."

Saul sighed and rolled to his feet.

"Guess they didn't like the dirty magazines," said Lucy, smirking.

  


  
[On to Chapter Twelve](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/3380.html)   
  



	12. Smoke and Mirrors  12/16

_  
**Smoke and Mirrors 12/16**   
_   
[Back to Chapter Eleven](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/3159.html)

  
Clark, Bill, Mueller and Brandon were standing around the central console when Saul entered.

"Captain," said Brandon, once he'd saluted, "we have decided to let you in on the next stage of the investigation."

Saul flicked his eyes to Bill, whose face remained impassive.

"Colonel Adama feels you have something to contribute," Brandon added.

Bill's face didn't change, though Saul had to fight to keep his schooled. "I'll certainly try my best, sir." Oh, he was doing this on purpose.

Saul tried to glare discreetly at Bill. He answered with that stupid smirk using just his eyes. Yeah, definitely on purpose. Bastard.

"We'll split up," said Brandon, picking up a pencil and drawing a blueprint of _Columbia_ over to him. "Colonel Adama and Captain Tigh will take pilots and deck crew; Lieutenant Clark and Major Mueller will organize the search of officers' and general crew quarters." He moistened his lips. "I will be taking marine barracks with Sergeant Carson. And in the spirit of full disclosure, I'll be allowing my own quarters to be searched. Colonel?"

"Yes, sir," said Bill, nodding, though there was a muscle in his jaw that had tightened with discomfort. Probably nobody but Saul would notice it. "Mine as well."

"Good." Brandon pushed the blueprint back into a folder. "You have your orders, gentlemen. Let's get going."

**

Searching peoples' lockers was really boring, thought Saul. Especially since Bill wouldn't even let him touch Mueller's.

"What?" asked Saul, digging through Goober's stuff. "You think I'm going to leave a surprise for him?"

"I think I'd rather be able to tell him it was me who looked in his locker," said Bill evenly. He slammed Mueller's locker and moved on to Jumpshot's.

"Well, he might be in my locker right now," said Saul off-handedly, giving Lucy's locker a cursory poke-through. He really, really did not need to see some of those things. He was pretty sure you couldn't build a bomb with them, at the very least.

"You got anything to hide?" asked Bill.

"No," said Saul, doing a mental inventory. The apple core and the well-thumbed copy of _The Boys and Girls of the Aphrodite Club_ wouldn't do anything to get him in Mueller's good graces, but who the hell cared? Maybe it'd give him an education.

Bill slammed a locker shut. "To tell you the truth, I'm not exactly looking forward to having my own quarters searched."

Saul shrugged. "There's nothing in there, is there?"

Bill remained silent.

"Maybe we'll find the stuff beforehand," said Saul.

"Maybe."

Saul wasn't sure if their silence was due to what they were doing or what had happened last night. Either way, he didn't think he was that mad anymore. Of course, that didn't mean anything if Bill was still mad.

Their marine escorts followed them to the deck crew's quarters.

"Open," Bill announced, to the guards standing in front of the hatch, one of whom Saul realized with a sinking feeling had held him down while Mueller whaled on him.

"Nobody came in or out?" Saul asked pointedly.

"No," said Bixby, not meeting his eyes. Saul put a hand on his stomach, remembering Bixby's boot in his gut.

Bill paused. "No, _what_?" he asked archly.

Bixby hesitated. "No, sir."

"I didn't hear you, Sergeant," said Bill, getting in his face. He was using his meanest XO voice and Saul felt a rush of something that was a weird mix of gratitude and pride.

"No, Captain Tigh, _sir_ ," said Bixby. "No one has gone in or out, _sir_."

Saul fought to hide his smile. "You clear the room?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," said Saul. "Open the hatch."

"Yes, sir." Bixby obeyed.

Specialist McCurdy was sprawled on the floor by his rack, the bloodstain seeping from his head making Saul sure of one thing—he was dead.

**

Bill regarded Bixby across the table. "You told me no one had gone in or out," he said calmly. "You also said you'd cleared the room."

Bixby looked nervous. "Sir, I—"

"You might want to be careful what you say," said Saul. He was standing and he leaned in close to Bixby. Might as well play bad cop. "You're walking a very fine line."

Bixby looked up at Saul, his face unreadable. "I don't know what else to say. Sir. I was certain that there was no one in there when Corporal Dillon and I—"

"Then how the hell'd the body get in there?"

"Sergeant," said Bill quietly. Even though Saul wasn't the one being questioned, he still wanted to sit up a little straighter. Bixby did. "Think carefully. Maybe you've made a mistake. Maybe you're misremembering."

"Sir, I swear." He looked frantically back and forth between Bill and Saul.

"A kid is _dead_ ," said Saul sharply. "You were supposed to be watching the room!"

"Really, sir, I don't know how he could possibly—"

"You have to know how this sounds, Sergeant," said Saul. "You sound very, very guilty."

"Sir…"

Bill opened his mouth to say something, but he closed it again and Saul went on.

"You could've done it and no one would've been the wiser. _Someone_ pulled the security footage for that hallway." Saul let his voice go low. "You kill him, Bixby?"

Bixby paled. "No, sir, of course not."

"Then maybe you just let the killer in to do the job? And then let him escape? He pay you?" Saul was aware that Bill flinched, but he ignored it.

"Really, sir," said Bixby. "I swear I'm telling the truth."

"Major Mueller has Sergeant Dillon in the other room right now," said Saul, straightening up. "We're going to compare your stories. Maybe I should just ask him right now what Dillon's saying." He turned for the door.

"Wait! Sir! Captain, I—"

Saul stopped. "What is it, Sergeant?" he said lazily.

"We went to the head, all right?" Bixby buried his head in his hands. "I didn't think—"

"Exactly," said Saul, crossing his arms over his chest. "You didn't think."

"Gods," Bixby began, "oh, gods, could I have stopped—?"

"We don't know," said Bill softly.

The door opened.

"Captain Tigh?" said Private Anderson, sticking her head in the room. "Captain Earnshaw found something."

**

Saul found Goober in the still-sealed deck-crew quarters. He was standing next to McCurdy's rack. The body had been taken to the morgue, but it still gave Saul the creeps. He was glad he wasn't a deckhand anymore, if only because it meant he didn't have to sleep in here.

"Whatcha got?" he asked.

"Take a look." Goober opened McCurdy's locker.

"Frak me," murmured Saul. McCurdy's locker was crammed with the bomb-making materials; no attempt had even been made to hide them.

"Yeah," said Goober, crossing his arms over his chest. "This is… this is…"

"Frak," said Saul again, running a hand through his hair. "He was a good kid. Little overeager maybe, but frak. I never thought."

"Coulda been suicide," said Goober, looking up at Saul, his expression dark. "He knows you and the colonel are coming. Knows he doesn't have much time. He takes a header off his rack."

Saul frowned at the bloodstain on the floor. "How's he know it's going to work?"

Goober shrugged. "He doesn't. He's scared out of his frakking mind. He takes a chance. Death, coma, he doesn't care. Rather by his own hand than firing squad."

"He from Aerilon?"

"No, Picon."

Saul wrinkled his nose. "How's a good kid from Picon get mixed up with ASF?"

"Maybe he was trying to rebel?" Goober grinned. "I rebelled by joining up."

Saul smiled. " _Terrorism_ 's a bit of a stretch, Goob."

Goober smirked. "Hey," he said. "Kids these days."

They were interrupted by the phone.

Goober went to answer it. "Earnshaw. I'm here with Tigh. … Yes, sir. … No, sir, we did not. … I'll tell him." He hung up.

"Tell me what?" asked Saul.

Goober stuck his hands in his pockets. "We were barking up the wrong tree there, Jinx."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. That was Doc Winters. She says it wasn't suicide."

Saul frowned. "Then it was…"

"Murder, yeah." Goober sat down on the nearest rack and Saul sat across from him. "Doc says he was hit with something, back of the head. And that he probably wasn't killed down here." He made a face. "She says there'd be too much…" He cleared his throat. "Too much evidence. You know, blood and… stuff."

Saul blew out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "So… either…"

"Either somebody got to him before we did and whacked him, like a revenge thing."

Saul swallowed hard. "Or he's been framed."

**

Bill set down two bowls of noodles and slid one toward Saul. "Looks like you had an exciting day," he remarked, taking a seat across from him at the table.

"McCurdy's prints weren't on any of the stuff in his locker," said Saul, splitting his chopsticks cleanly. "It was a frame-up. Poor kid."

"Now _that_ we are keeping quiet," said Bill. "You get that?"

"Yeah," said Saul, and he couldn't muster any hostility. "Listen, Bill, about last night."

Bill slurped down some noodles. "It was nothing," he said finally. "We were both tired, we were both under a lot of pressure."

"I was a jerk." He frowned at his dinner. "I don't deserve the way you keep sticking up for me."

Bill set his chopsticks in his bowl and reached out to lay a hand on Saul's arm, heavy through the sleeve of his uniform. "Yes, you do," he said gently. "Maybe even more because you don't think you do."

"Thanks," said Saul, laying his hand over Bill's and idly rubbing his knuckles.

They went back to eating after a few moments, and Saul had to admit he felt better. Definitely hungrier.

"Commander Brandon was impressed with how you handled Bixby," said Bill.

Saul shrugged. "You were in there, too."

Bill snorted. "I hardly said anything. You were the one who got him to talk."

"It wasn't much. They just left their post. We could've figured that out any number of ways."

Bill smirked. "Hey, I'm trying to pay you a compliment here. Brandon liked it is all I'm saying."

Saul hadn't even considered the possibility that Brandon had been watching through the glass, though he felt stupid now. "Okay," he said. "So where does that leave us?" He took off his jacket and hung it on the chair behind him.

"McCurdy was obviously killed elsewhere and dumped when the two marines left their post."

"Frak!" Saul stabbed the air with his chopsticks as the realization hit him. "Bastard was waiting for it. I mean, how long's it take to go to the head? He must've been watching them to see if they'd go."

Bill paused, considering this. "That's very likely. We'll have to see if anyone was seen hanging around in that hallway."

Saul set his empty bowl down on the table. "This is heavy stuff, Bill."

"Yeah, I know," said Bill. He paused. "Did I ever tell you what happened on _Universal_ , right when I got reinstated?"

"Still have all your letters."

Bill smirked. "I didn't put this in letters. The guy in the rack under me was murdered. Right there, at night, in bed, and I was asleep four feet away."

"That's crazy," said Saul.

"Universal was crazy," said Bill, stripping off his jacket, too. "Worst assignment I ever had. Everybody was nuts, made old Captain Steiner on _Atlantia_ look like my grandmother."

"Yeah?" said Saul. "I think my worst was _Lazarus_. I was sixteen, a deckhand. You familiar with Admiral Crosby?"

Bill shook his head.

"She decided that since we were in a time of war the whole crew had to go distraction-free. She was from Gemenon, ran the place like a monastery. Curfew… no booze, no cards, no nothing." He sighed. "She's gone now. Whole thing's gone." He swallowed hard.

"How'd you survive that one?" Bill asked.

"I was working damage control," said Saul quietly. "Cylons vented the ship. I had my suit on. They never found me."

Bill squeezed his hand.

"Hell of a thing," he said. "Like I said, you're a damn lucky son of a bitch."

"Yeah," said Saul. "I guess I am."

Bill ruffled his hair. Usually, Saul hated that, but this time he relished the affection.

"How's your leg?" he asked.

"Better," said Bill, standing. He reached for their dishes, but Saul stopped him. "What?"

"If you're better…" said Saul. He took a step around the table and grabbed Bill by the shoulders, kissing him. Bill didn't have a moment to catch his breath, but Saul knew that if he didn't want this, he'd have stopped them. Instead, he rested his hands on Saul's waist, parting his lips to give him better access and pulling Saul back towards his rack.

"You waiting for me to heal up just so you could do this?" Bill asked when they'd come up for air.

"Damn right," said Saul, pulling his tanks off. "You're overdressed, Colonel." His tone was brusque, but he liked the way Bill reacted to it, fumbling to get rid of all those unnecessary clothes. He couldn't help that his eyes went immediately to Bill's thigh. The doc had put a clean bandage on that afternoon and Saul frowned.

"I'll be okay," said Bill, taking a few steps closer to him. He gave Saul a crooked smile that he had to know made Saul go weak in the knees. "It's not like Winters said 'no sex."

Saul snorted. "Yeah, she probably took one look at you and thought, 'This bastard ain't getting laid.'"

Bill rolled his eyes and kissed Saul again, slipping his arms around his neck.

"I'm just glad you're okay," said Saul seriously, after a few moments. It might have been overdramatic, but whatever. He paused, lips close to Bill's, unsure of what to say next.

"I guess I should consider myself lucky I've got someone so concerned about my health," said Bill, tangling his fingers in Saul's hair. He leaned in for another kiss.

"I've just got to check up on you," Saul murmured. His hands slowly traced the planes of Bill's back, lingering as if he didn't already know every inch.

"Yeah, you're good at that."

"I'm good at a lot of things," said Saul, pushing Bill down onto the bed. "I'll show you more if you're up to it."

  


  
[On to Chapter Thirteen](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/3826.html)   
  



	13. Smoke and Mirrors 13/16

_  
**Smoke and Mirrors 13/16**   
_   
[Back to Chapter Twelve](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/3380.html)

  
If Bill had known what would happen the next day, he probably would have insisted that they sleep in. Letting Saul stay the night probably wasn't his smartest decision of all time, but he decided that the comfort of having another warm body in the bed beside him far outweighed both the matter of Saul not showing up in his own rack and the inconvenience of dealing with a freshly-woken Saul.

They slept until reveille, but Bill might have dropped off to sleep again—he couldn't be quite sure. Why had he taken this job, anyway? He couldn't remember. He missed sleeping.

"You 'wake yet?" Saul asked, his crabby voice cutting through those last few precious moments of sleep. Bill opened his eyes. Saul wore a bleary-eyed scowl and his hair was sticking up at all angles. It was almost cute, provided he didn't talk until he had some coffee in him. "I get the head first, okay?"

Bill sighed. Sleeping with Saul made up for waking up with Saul, he was pretty sure. He was too tired to argue. Maybe he'd get to catch a few more minutes. You could never tell how long showering could take Saul.

Saul rubbed his eyes and climbed out of the rack, muttering under his breath as his feet hit the cold metal floor. "Would a couple of area rugs kill you?"

Bill rubbed his eyes. "You think I should buy _rugs_ for this place?"

Saul began gathering his clothes from where they'd been flung the night before. "Yeah," he said. "The floor is frakking cold."

"I'll look into it," said Bill.

"Did I ever tell you I hate mornings?" Saul added, from the head.

"No," said Bill drily, flopping back down on the mattress as he heard Saul yelp at the cold water in the shower. "I'd never have guessed."

Post-shower and-coffee, Saul was actually rather appealing.

"Well, I'll say one thing for this ship," he said, sitting on the edge of Bill's desk and planting his feet on Bill's knees. "It's a hell of a lot more interesting than guarding civilian science expeditions on _Atlantia_."

Bill sat back, sipping his coffee. "That's not exactly the kind of interesting I like."

Saul chuckled into his mug. "Keeps you on your toes."

They were interrupted by the phone behind Bill's desk ringing.

"There we go again," said Bill, shoving Saul's feet off and standing. "More adventure."

"Yeah," said Saul with mock disappointment. "That's probably somebody important."

Bill crossed the room and grabbed the receiver. "XO."

It was Brandon. "Colonel, we have a situation," he said. "Do you know where Captain Tigh is?"

Bill scratched the back of his neck. "He's right here, sir." Saul cocked his head.

"I need to see both of you in my quarters, ASAP." Brandon's voice was calm, but slightly strained. Dread fell like a lead weight to the pit of Bill's stomach.

"We're leaving now, sir," said Bill. Saul hopped off the desk and reached for his boots. "We'll be there as soon as we can."

Brandon was pacing when Bill and Saul arrived in his quarters. Clark and Mueller were already seated by the desk, looking grave. Carson was standing at attention a few feet away.

"Sir," said Bill curtly, as he and Saul saluted.

"Gentlemen," said Brandon, stopping his pacing. "I wish I could say it was a good morning."

"What is it, sir?" asked Saul.

Brandon scratched his chin; he hadn't shaved. Actually, by the look of his uniform, Bill guessed he hadn't slept either. He suddenly felt incredibly guilty for having spent a relatively blissful night curled up next to Saul.

"The third bomb," said Brandon.

Saul froze. "Sir? Goober and I found—"

"I know." Brandon sighed. "Twenty minutes ago, I received a phone call. Claiming to be from the bomber, stating that he'd planted a third bomb. I couldn't get a trace on the call and his voice—I assume it's a him—was disguised."

The others looked grave; Bill assumed they had already known.

"We'll have to search the ship," said Bill.

"Yes, we will, Colonel." Brandon suddenly crossed back over to his desk and sat down. "I'd like each of you to lead a search team. We have five hours. The caller demanded the election be called off, gave some speech about Caprican oppression. I called HQ but it's the middle of the night on that part of Picon."

"That's insane," said Saul. "They can't possibly think the President's going to call off elections for some amateur—"

"People can demand anything they want," said Bill. "Doesn't mean they'll get it."

"Exactly," said Brandon. "I don't intend to give in and neither does Admiral Gates, which means we must take this threat seriously, even if it does turn out to be a hoax."

**

"I'm getting déjà vu," said Lucy, as she and Saul walked down a hallway on C deck. "I could definitely live with never doing this again after this week."

"I hear you," said Saul. He grabbed his radio from his belt. "Combat, LSO, we're starting our search of C deck now."

"Roger that, Captain," said Clark, on the other end.

Saul replaced his radio. "We should split up," he said to Lucy.

"Sure," she said. "Okay," she said, pointing at three of the marines they had with them. "You come with me. We'll start down there by the firing range."

"Sir?" asked Corporal Smith. "Shouldn't we search the arms locker?"

Saul bristled. He was losing his focus. "Of course, Corporal, what the hell are you waiting for?" he heard himself snap.

He crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. They had to find it in time.

"Captain." Saul's eyes snapped open.

Mueller was standing there. Saul braced for impact—so, he'd been short with Smith. And now, Mueller was probably going to chew him out for it.

"Sir," he said.

"We're going down to E deck," said Mueller, indicating the group of other pilots he had with him. "The XO's between us on D."

Saul nodded. Mueller gave him a tight-lipped smile. If Saul didn't know better, he'd say he looked kind of nervous.

"We'll find it, sir," Saul heard himself saying. "We're checking every square inch."

"Don't count your chickens, Captain."

"No, sir," agreed Saul. "But we have four more hours."

"Right." Mueller jammed his hands in his pockets. "We should be moving on. Come on!" he called to his team. Saul watched Mueller head down the hallway to the stairs. That conversation had been almost civil, he reflected.

Three hours later, Saul and Lucy ran into Goober's team on the hangar deck.

"Hey, Bubbles," he called, coming over to them. "Where the hell is Ratchet? He was supposed to meet up with me twenty minutes ago."

Lucy shrugged. "I haven't seen him." She put her hands on her hips. "We're down here now; how's the search coming?"

Goober crossed his arms. "I ran into the XO, he said this was the last place. Randall's got people up on the flight deck making sure…" He trailed off. All three of them were silent.

"Well," said Saul, "we still have this place to search. Let's spread out. There's too many people and too much stuff down here for us to be able to afford to take a chance."

It took them nearly an hour, even with the work divided between the three teams, to finish searching the hangar deck.

"So, where the frak is it?" asked Lucy, voice rising. "Between us and the XO, the CAG, Sergeant Carson, we've got every inch of this ship covered."

"It has to be somewhere," said Goober. "Unless… oh, gods." He covered his face with his hand. "What if they moved it? What if the bastard's following us and moved it?"

Saul chewed on his lip. "Let's hope to gods that's not the case."

**

Brandon watched with growing dread as Clark fielded calls from the six search team leaders and marked the results on the board that had been set up in CiC.

"That was Colonel Adama, sir," he said, putting the phone back into place on the console. "Weight room is clean."

Brandon closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to fight down the nausea he'd been feeling since this thing had started. It had kept him up all night, in fact. "Mark it down, Lieutenant." He reached into his pocket and squeezed Cyrus's medal.

The phone rang again. "Major Mueller reports the rec room is clean," reported Clark.

And again. Oh, gods, his back was killing him.

"Sergeant Carson's team just cleared the marine barracks." Brandon stretched, wincing.

"Tell him to keep going," he ground out.

"Captain Tigh and Lieutenant McAllister have finished searching the pilots' quarters," announced Hunter.

Brandon splayed his hands on the console, bracing himself against another wave of pain.

"Sir?" Clark was at his elbow. "The starboard hangar deck is clean. Flight deck too."

Brandon swallowed. "Tell Colonel Adama… Major Mueller… and Captain… Tigh to…" Frak, now it was in his arm. He took another deep breath and grabbed his chest. "Tell them to…"

"Sir, are you all right?" He could see Clark on the very edge of his field of vision. "Sir? Commander?"

It was killing him, gods, the pain in his chest.

"Sir? Commander Brandon?"

Phil felt himself go down on one knee, and then hit the floor.

He heard Clark yell, "Rachel, call Doc Winters right now!" and he vaguely heard Hunter's voice, frantic in the distance.

Brandon could see shoes running frantically on either side of him, though the sounds were muffled now. He screwed his eyes shut against the tightness in his chest and rolled himself over. At least Trish and Cyrus would be happy—he was laying on his side.

**

Saul was sitting with Goober and Lucy, on some boxes in a corner of the hangar deck, waiting, watching the clock. Either time would run out and they'd live because there was no bomb, or they'd die because they'd missed the bomb.

Goober swallowed hard, his jaw tight. "It's crazy, huh?" he murmured. "People killing people… for what? Are we going to be some kind of example?"

"They'll get 'em," said Saul. "Terrorists blow up a battlestar? Gates'll have them wiped off the frakking map."

Lucy buried her head in her hands. "Where the frak is Ratchet?"

Saul glanced at his watch and wondered where Bill was, wondered if he could find Bill before the half-hour was up. If he was going to die, if they were all going to die…

The phone on the wall rang, but Saul ignored it. When no one answered it, Lucy got to her feet, sighing, and grabbed it.

"Saul? It's for you," she said, sounding irritated.

Saul blinked and got to his feet, taking the receiver from Lucy. "LSO," he said.

"Saul." Bill's voice on the other end of the line was gruff. Saul could tell immediately something had happened.

"What is it?" he asked.

"You know where the CAG is?"

"No," said Saul. Lucy and Goober were looking at him curiously. "I haven't seen him."

"Find him," said Bill. "And get both of your asses to my quarters, right frakking now."

**

"I don't know what's going on," Saul told Mueller as they strode through the halls to Bill's quarters. "He just told me to show up with you, RFN."

Mueller glanced at his watch. "It's almost time."

"I know," said Saul.

"Ten seconds," Mueller said.

Saul froze; his eyes met Mueller's. Mueller looked terrified and, Saul noticed for the first time, very young. As one, they both looked down at the second hand on Mueller's watch. Ten seconds passed. Saul glanced down at his own wrist. The times matched.

"No bomb," said Mueller quietly.

"No bomb," said Saul.

They looked at each other and grinned. "It was a frakking hoax!" Saul exclaimed.

Mueller's grin widened.

Saul hugged him. He wasn't sure why, but he did it. He was just so damn glad to be alive that he didn't care who it was. It was just another human, and they were both alive. Mueller thumped him on the back. "Gods, Jinx," he said, "this is just—"

Saul withdrew. "Bill," he said. "Colonel Adama. He still needs something, something's wrong. It wasn't about this."

Mueller looked at him levelly. "Let's go," he said, and as one, they took off running.

When they got to Bill's quarters, Mueller reached out his hand to knock, but Saul pushed past him and pulled the hatch open.

"Bill! I mean, Colonel, sir, the bomb was a hoax." Saul stumbled to a stop in front of Bill's desk, Mueller at his heels.

Bill looked up darkly. "I know. We got another anonymous call to CiC just now." He ran a hand through his hair. "That's not our biggest problem now." He paused. "Commander Brandon had a heart attack."

Saul's mouth went dry. "Is he okay?"

"It's too early to tell," said Bill. He was rubbing his upper lip, an old nervous habit Saul recognized from when he'd had a mustache. "He's in sickbay now." Bill stood. "That means I'm in command. Acting," he added quickly. "Acting command." He looked up at Saul and Mueller, regarding them seriously. "I need you, both of you. I can't—"

Then, the lights went out and the alarm started blaring.

  


  
[On to Chapter Fourteen](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/4026.html)   



	14. Smoke and Mirrors 14/16

_  
**Smoke and Mirrors 14/16**   
_   
[Back to Chapter Thirteen](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/3826.html)

  
He hated the dark, had hated it since _Olympia_ …

"Saul?"

He'd hated it since he'd spent twelve hours on that pitch black hangar deck, cramped in a cockpit small enough to give somebody from the wide open desert claustrophobia.

"Captain Tigh!"

Twelve hours waiting to die, waiting to be boarded by Centurions, oh, that stink, that godsdamn stink. He hated Cylons, wanted each and every one of them to die.

"Jinx!"

Oh, gods, was it the Cylons? He didn't think he could face Cylons again.

Bill slapped him, hard.

"Keep it together," he said sharply. "I need you in the game." It was only then that he realized Bill had been yelling at him for the past few minutes, his face only inches from Saul's. Mueller was standing over Bill's shoulder, holding a flashlight and looking… nervous? Was "nervous" in Mueller's repertoire?

"Sorry," said Saul, rubbing his stinging cheek.

Bill grabbed the phone from the wall, punched a button. "Combat, XO. I need a sitrep now, Lieutenant."

Saul couldn't see Bill's face in the dark, but he could tell from his silence that Clark had a lot to explain.

"Sit tight," said Bill. "I'll be right there." Saul heard the phone click as Bill hung up.

He took a moment to compose himself before speaking.

"Captain Tigh, I'm naming you my second-in-command."

"What?" said Saul.

"Sir?" said Mueller incredulously. "I outrank—"

"This is not about rank, Major," Bill cut in. Saul really, really loved that XO voice of his. "This is about duty. Lieutenant Clark tells me an unidentified ship has jumped into _Columbia_ 's airspace. A _large_ unidentified ship." Bill paused. "Lots of Dradis noise from the asteroid field, but we think the large ship is launching fighters."

Saul's heart skipped a beat.

"Oh, gods," said Mueller. "Is it…?"

"We don't know," said Bill quietly. "But I need all the bodies I can put in Vipers _in_ Vipers. So far, they've just turned off the lights, but they could do a lot worse. I need you down on the hangar deck."

For a split second, Mueller looked like he was about to challenge it, but he didn't.

He saluted. "Yes, sir."

"If comms go down, draft deckhands as messengers." Bill was eerily calm, while Saul and Mueller were both panicking. "We need to be connected at all times." He glanced at Saul. "Let's go. And if it comes to that—good hunting, Major."

Mueller saluted and turned to go.

"Good hunting, sir," Saul murmured, as he passed. Mueller seemed to nod in acknowledgement, but it might have been Saul's imagination.

**

Saul was unused to CiC as it was, and he _really_ wasn't used to it when it was like this. They still hadn't gotten the lights back on, so the room was illuminated by the Dradis monitors. Saul could barely see where he was going.

Bill took his place in front of the central console and then, after a moment's hesitation, Saul stood across from him. It felt frakking weird.

"Lieutenant Clark," Bill announced. "Would you mind telling us what is going on?"

"It's not the Cylons," said Clark. Saul slumped in relief and across from him, Bill looked happy, at least, as happy as he could be, given the situation.

"So what is it then?" Saul heard himself ask.

"It's a modified carrier ship. They're claiming to be from the Aerilon Separatist Front," Hunter announced. "They're demanding to speak with Commander Brandon."

Bill grabbed the phone. "Patch me in."

"Lieutenant, what's going on with those fighters?" Saul asked.

"They're holding," Clark said. "They seem to have military surplus supplies… Viper Mark IIs. Probably left over from the war."

Saul looked to Bill. He covered the mouthpiece of the phone. "Launch our Vipers," he said. "Just one squadron. Enough to show we're serious."

Saul reached for the mic. "This is the LSO," he said. The microphone squealed with static and he nearly dropped it.

He cleared his throat and started again. "This is the LSO. Green squadron, scramble. Set condition one throughout the ship. This is not a drill."

That felt oddly good.

Though he couldn't help missing actually participating in the launch. He hoped whoever was filling in for him wouldn't screw up.

He heard Bill start speaking across from him. "No, I'm not Commander Brandon. I'm Colonel William Adama. You can speak to me."

Saul glanced up at the Dradis monitor.

"Vipers are away," Hunter reported.

"Tell them to hold their positions," said Saul, praying that was the right thing to say.

Suddenly, Bill slammed his receiver back into its hook.

"What did they say?" Saul asked quickly.

"Surrender or they'll fire upon us," he said.

"Do they have guns?"

"Ship-to-ship missiles," said Bill. "And those Vipers."

"Frak," said Saul. "And we can't—?"

"We can't jump, sir," said Clark. "We don't know how much we might damage the ship."

Bill rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Lieutenant Hunter, tell our Vipers to advance, but they are not to fire until I give the order." Suddenly, the ship shook.

"What was that?" barked Saul, grabbing the console to keep from falling.

"Asteroids, sir," shouted Plummer.

"Frak," muttered Saul.

The wireless crackled. " _Columbia_ , Goober. Their fighters are holding steady."

Bill cleared his throat. "Petty Officer Gaines, what's the condition of our port gun batteries?"

"They're fully operational, sir."

Bill turned to look at her. "Fire a warning shot across their top."

Gaines looked hesitant, but then she nodded. "Yes, sir."

Saul crossed around to stand next to Bill. "What exactly are you doing?" he whispered, leaning in close.

Bill didn't say anything. He looked down at his hands. "I don't want to get engaged in a firefight out here with civilians, Saul," he said quietly. "What I'm more concerned about is getting safely out of here and figuring out who our mole is."

Saul blinked. "Mole?"

"Sir!" announced Clark. "We've lost Dradis."

Saul's head jerked up. The monitors above them flickered and went dark. In the dim emergency lights, he could see Bill's worry, so he laid a hand on his arm and squeezed.

"We have a mole," said Bill quietly. "That ship doesn't have the equipment to cut our lights, jam our Dradis. Someone's messing us up from the inside. Someone with access to machinery. It's got to be the bomber."

Saul frowned. "But who?"

"We'll worry about that later." He stepped away from Saul, out of his reach. "Wireless?" he said in a loud voice. "I want our fighters up on speakers."

" _Columbia_ , Goober." He sounded very staticky. "There's a hell of a lot of interference out here."

Bill reached for the handset. "I need a report on the enemy vessel. Something's blocking our Dradis."

Suddenly, the lights flickered back on, as did the monitors.

"Dradis is back online!" shouted Clark. "Fighters are moving into attack formation."

Bill bit his lip. "Tell our fighters to defend themselves if attacked. Until then, weapons hold." He looked up at Saul. "Captain, go down to sickbay and get me a report from Doctor Winters on Commander Brandon's condition."

Saul frowned, but he saluted. "Yes, sir."

Saul avoided running to sickbay, but he was walking very quickly. Doctor Winters met him at the door.

"Captain," she said curtly.

"Colonel Adama sent me to check on the commander," he explained.

She sighed. "He's a very sick man. This is not what I would have expected, based on his last physical." She opened her folder and handed Saul a sheet of paper. "I believe he was given something that caused this."

Saul felt a chill shoot through him. "Given something?"

Winters pursed her lips. "Any number of chemicals can cause something like this, especially in an older individual like the commander. I won't know for sure until I can run a full tox scan. I can stabilize him, but for any long-term chance, he needs a cardiologist."

Saul glanced down at the paper and then back up at Winters. "How long?"

"He's sedated now. If we keep his environment quiet, don't add any stressors… I don't know." She looked grim. "If you want me to be honest, I'm worried about his chances of making it to Scorpia, especially if we get held up another few hours with these terrorists."

Saul nodded. "I'll give the XO your report."

When he returned to CiC, Bill was waiting for him, looking nervous, one eye on the Dradis monitor.

"I need a drink," said Bill, when Saul had finished filling him in. He looked shaken. "Saul, what if Brandon dies?" His voice was low, but Saul could detect a slight tremor in it.

"What?" he asked, bewildered, stepping closer. "Don't think about that, Bill. He's not going to die."

"I'm not ready for this," said Bill suddenly.

Saul looked concerned.

"I've only been XO for three months!" Bill hissed. He looked rattled. "I've always wanted that, but I can't—I _can't_. Not now, not yet. Not because somebody _died_."

Saul grabbed Bill's arm; Bill looked at him in surprise. "You can, okay?" he whispered. "You can do this now and worry about what happens when it happens."

Bill paled and nodded. Saul had never seen him like this and the thought that Bill could be so scared of something was really frightening.

"And either way," Saul heard himself saying, "I'll be here, okay? Side-by-side, you and me, right?"

Bill nodded.

"Colonel?"

They both turned. Mueller had entered CiC.

"Major Mueller," said Bill calmly. Saul was impressed at how easily he had gotten his composure back. "I want the two of you to get down to maintenance. Check with the Chief, see what's going on with all these equipment failures."

Saul hesitated. Mueller, really? He looked back at Bill, who looked tiredly back at him. Saul saluted. "Yes, sir."

Saul wasn't sure that was the right decision, but Bill looked pretty frazzled.

"Let's go, Major," he said.

Mueller looked just as excited to be paired with Saul as Saul was to be paired with him.

"You been to see the CO?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Saul, gauging Mueller's expression. "He'll be fine," he added, for Mueller's benefit. The younger man seemed to relax. Saul wasn't sure what had driven him to lie; maybe it was just because a jittery Mueller was annoying as frak.

"You have any idea who this could be?" asked Mueller.

"Yeah," said Saul, "actually. I do have an idea."

Mueller raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? Who?"

Saul knew Mueller would shoot him down. He knew as well as anybody how pilots covered for each other, looked out for their own. "Ratchet. I think it's Ratchet."

"Ratchet," Mueller repeated skeptically.

"He's been acting awfully suspicious lately, is all I can say."

Mueller looked at Saul. "You know this is a serious charge, Captain."

Saul snorted. "No more serious than the way you charged me. Sir."

Mueller scowled. "It's not Ratchet, let me tell you. He wouldn't hurt a fly. I'd like to hear you say that in front of McAllister."

There was a reason Saul hadn't mentioned it until now. "We'll see, sir," said Saul. "It was just an idea. He was missing during the search for the bomb."

Mueller didn't respond to that. He was quiet the rest of the way to maintenance. They met Randall and O'Brian outside the hatch to the power systems.

"Why don't we split up?" suggested Mueller. "I'll take Specialist O'Brian and check aft—Chief and Tigh, you check starboard."

Saul could guess why he suggested splitting up. He knew his assertion sounded outlandish, but it was all he had to go on, and Ratchet made a hell of a lot more sense than Saul himself, and everybody had seemed to believe _that_ readily enough. After all, Mueller and Carson had looked positively apoplectic with glee when Saul was in the brig.

"Yes, sir," said Saul. "Come on, Chief." He strode off without even waiting for her to say something.

They walked in silence for a few moments, until Saul said, "Listen, Chief, I'm sorry about McCurdy."

She sighed. "Andy was a good kid… at least, we thought he was."

Saul frowned. Should he tell her? It looked like it was really bothering her, and he knew what it was like on the hangar deck. He tried to imagine how he would have felt if he'd found out something horrible about one of his fellow knuckledraggers on _Lazarus_ , like they were a Cylon or something.

"Actually, we aren't so sure he wasn't."

She looked at him, confused. "I'm sorry, Captain, I don't follow."

"We think McCurdy was framed." Saul paused as she swiped her key and opened the hatch.

"Framed?" She leaned down over the system that controlled the lights on the ship. "These wires have all been cut—oh my gods!"

"What?" Startled, Saul had a hand on his gun before he knew it.

"Look," she said in a quiet voice. She reached into her belt pouch for a rag and then extracted something from behind the lightboard. It was a bloody wrench.

Saul suddenly remembered Goober's description of Winters's autopsy report.

 _"Doc says he was hit with something, back of the head. And that he probably wasn't killed down here."_

Saul took the wrench from her, keeping the rag wrapped around the handle to keep their fingerprints from erasing any evidence of Ratchet—or whoever—who had touched it last.

That was probably their killer.

"You say these wires are all cut," said Saul. "So how did the lights come back on?"

"Backup generator." She pointed over Saul's shoulder, back into a maze of wires and machines. "It comes on automatically after the computer decides the primary system has failed." She set down her toolbox. "I have to fix this—can you give me a hand, sir?"

"Sure." Saul set the wrench down on top of a box with flashing lights and knelt to help her.

"You sure know your way around machines," Randall remarked.

Saul chuckled as he unhooked one of the cut wires. "When it's war, they pretty much stick you wherever they can. That's the only reason I wound up doing a lot."

Randall sighed. "I was in there a couple of years—I was _really_ young," she added with a wink. "But it's where I started out—deckhand on _Galactica_. The colonel and I go way back."

"Oh, yeah?" said Saul.

She grinned. "When he was a rook, he used to botch his landings something awful."

Saul laughed. "Now _that_ he has never told me."

"Really? Has he told you about—" There was a crash somewhere behind them and they both jumped.

Randall stood shakily. "Who's there?" she called.

There was no response.

"Well," she said, "I have to go back there anyway. Now that we have this up and running, I can take the backup offline." She grabbed her toolbox and headed for the back of the room. "It'd be a bit of a tight fit for a tall guy like you, sir. I can do it myself."

"Okay," said Saul, though for some reason, he was worried.

"I'll be fine, sir," Randall said. "I'll be back before you can say beans." She disappeared from view.

Saul waited. He regarded the bloody wrench beside him with suspicion. If that was the murder weapon—and it was certainly big enough to kill and covered with blood to boot—then who was the murderer? Had it happened here? He tried to picture Ratchet luring McCurdy into light control, bashing his head in and dragging his body back to quarters. That didn't seem right. Maybe he'd killed him somewhere else, cleaned up, stashed the weapon here?

He glanced at his watch. Where the hell was Randall?

"Chief!" he called. "You okay?"

There was no response.

"I'm coming back there, Chief," he said, beginning to pick his way through the maze of wires and generators. She was right about it being a tight fit. He guessed he'd gotten his last growth spurt after the time he was crawling around down here on _Lazarus_.

"Chief?" he called again. There was her toolbox. Where was she?

His foot hit something soft. He looked down.

It was Randall's arm.

"Chief!" Saul dropped to his knees. She was lying very still, sprawled next to the backup generator. He grabbed her wrist and felt no pulse. "Oh no," he muttered, reaching for her neck. "No, no, no."

He couldn't feel a pulse on her neck either.

"You're very nosy, Captain," said a voice behind him. Saul whipped around, but before he could register who it was, he got a face full of wrench.

  


  
[On to Chapter Fifteen](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/4164.html)   
  



	15. Smoke and Mirrors 15/16

_  
**Smoke and Mirrors 15/16**   
_   
[Back to Chapter Fourteen](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/4026.html)

  
Saul came around slowly, wishing the deck would stop tilting underneath him. There was a coppery taste in his mouth… He was lying in a pool of blood… his blood?

"Frak me," he murmured, resisting the urge to vomit. It took a second for him to figure out which way was up, and when he'd gotten his equilibrium back, he pushed himself up on his hands and took a deep breath. He was struck by a sudden wave of nausea and dizziness, but he could tell one thing for sure.

He wasn't in light control anymore.

Wherever he was, it was dark—no overhead lights, just those on the control panels. He squinted, trying to read some panel, get a clue of where he was, but spots sprang in front of his eyes and the letters swam. He rubbed his head. His hair was wet, though he couldn't tell where the bleeding was coming from. Maybe it was everywhere.

"Ugh," he groaned again, closing his eyes against the wooziness. His head was killing him, like there was a drill boring right into his skull. "Who whazzat? Frakking… frakking Ratchet."

"Not frakking Ratchet. I'm sure he'll be tickled to know you suspected him."

Saul looked up, squinting. It was Carson.

"You," said Saul stupidly.

"Me." Carson knelt down next to Saul and pushed lightly on the back of his head. Saul collapsed, face-first. "Save your breath," Carson said. "You'll need it soon. Sir."

"Where are we?" said Saul, finally able to speak in complete sentences.

"Air control," said Carson. "The compartment's a little overpressurized. The system will be venting it shortly to equalize the ship automatically."

Saul coughed. "Wha' 'bout you?"

"I'm not sticking around." Carson straightened back up, brushed an invisible bit of lint off the front of his uniform. "I can't say the same for you, Jinx. Your luck's about to run out, along with your air. That is, unless your buddy Adama agrees to my terms."

"Terms?"

"What they've been all along, Tigh. Independence for our homeworld. Can't you get excited about that? I knew I should have picked a better fall guy, but I thought maybe being from my home colony…"

"You mean Aerilon?" asked Saul.

Carson kicked him. "Of course I mean Aerilon, you frakking moron," he snapped. "I didn't think I hit you that hard."

Saul glared up at him in disbelief. "You infiltrated the Colonial Fleet to make a political point?"

"Oh, I was already in the Fleet," said Carson scathingly. "I didn't have much of a choice, kid on Aerilon… what are you supposed to do if you don't want to be a farmer and can't get into college offworld? You have to know what I'm talking about."

Saul didn't. His memories were a little scrambled right now. But that sounded somewhat familiar. "Yeah," he heard himself say. "But I don't want to _kill_ anybody over it. I like being in the military."

Carson snorted derisively. "Listen to you. You're just parroting what they drilled into your head at training. All those officers from Caprica, Picon… turning you into their little yes-man robot. You're a Cylon, Tigh, that's what you are."

"You shut your frakking mouth," growled Saul, managing to throw himself forward a couple inches, but it was nowhere near enough.

Carson snorted. "What're you going to do? The concussion with the dropping pressure… you can't even stand up."

Saul tried. He was right.

"If you want to fix that, let me have a little chat with Adama."

He crossed the room and let himself out. Saul sucked in oxygen, glorious oxygen, for the few moments the door was open, but it wasn't enough to help him stand. He could see through the window that he paused by the phone right by the hatch, clipped something—probably a scrambler—to the wire and punched a button.

**

The phone on the console rang, startling Bill out of his thoughts. He answered it.

"Combat, this is Adama," he said automatically.

"Hello, Colonel." The voice on the other end of the line was disguised, as it had been before. He gestured to Hunter to trace the call. "Are you missing somebody?"

Bill's heart sank. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"I have Tigh."

It had been what Bill had been dreading the most. "Where?" he demanded.

"Keep him on the line, sir," said Hunter, as she frantically ran the trace program. "Anything, say anything, keep him talking."

"You think I'd make it that easy for you? I know you'll start ordering a search as soon as we hang up, but I can tell you your men won't reach him before he runs out of air."

Bill covered the receiver with his palm. "Mr. Clark," he hissed. "Check the pressure in all compartments."

"We'll find him," he said, back into the phone.

"Everything checks out, sir," said Clark. "No abnormal readings."

"You can save him easily, Colonel. Just call Admiral Gates. Tell him to get in touch with the President."

Bill froze. _We don't negotiate with terrorists._ He knew it was wrong, he knew _Saul_ would be the first to tell him it was wrong, but he couldn't imagine Saul dying somewhere, running out of air when Bill could stop it...

"How do I know I have your word?" asked Bill.

"Because I took the same oath you did, sir." The voice was cold, and Bill knew it had to be one of his men, but who?

Bill couldn't. He just couldn't. He clenched his left hand tightly. It would be _so_ easy to say, "We have a deal," to let them think they'd won until Saul was back safely with h0069m. He'd get in trouble, so much trouble, demoted, discharged, not to mention how mad Saul would be, but did it really matter if he could be sure he was alive?

"Lords help me," said Bill quietly. "If he dies, I will personally destroy every last member of your organization if I have to do it with my bare hands."

"So do we have a deal?"

"No," said Bill, and it was the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life. "The Colonial Fleet does not negotiate with terrorists." He slammed the phone down on the console and rested his head on his hands.

**

The hatch opened again and Saul sucked down more air.

"Enjoy it," said Carson. "Your pal said no."

Saul felt something twist inside him, though he knew saying no had been the right call on Bill's part.

"I will say one thing," said Carson, tapping the air control to make sure it was still releasing oxygen from the room. "You put up more fight than McCurdy or Randall. You're a good strong Aerilon boy, Jinx." He headed for the hatch. "Take care."

And then he was gone.

Saul swore. He shouted every curse word he knew, though they didn't come out as anything more than a whisper. Someone had to come. Somebody, anybody. Bill. Bill knew he was somewhere, Bill had to be looking.

**

"What about now?" shouted Bill. "Any pressure drops now?"

"Everything's still normal," repeated Clark.

"Somebody get me Sergeant Carson," said Bill. "I want marines scouring every room in this ship."

"Yes, sir," said someone. He didn't know who, didn't care who. Just as long as somebody frakking _did it_.

Bill clenched his fists. All he could think about was Saul suffocating somewhere. They had to find him.

**

Saul's life was all about timing. Angles. Trajectory. Exactitude.

It was something a Viper pilot, or a Landing Signal Officer, or a dim and distant memory of a scientist millions of miles away all had in common. Maybe he remembered this, in his dying moments, as his lungs burned, his eyes burned, his head throbbed with the impending download. Maybe he remembered dying twice before.

Asphyxiation wasn't new to Saul Tigh; neither was being murdered. Maybe somewhere in the very back corner of his mind, he knew he was just moments away from waking up in a tub somewhere, gasping back to life, at the mercy of something he'd created who wasn't expecting him back so soon.

And maybe that was the reason. It was like landing a Viper. Timing, angles, trajectory, exactitude. Maybe it was luck, maybe it was fate, maybe it was the will of an entity that hated to be called God.

Whatever it was, something made Lyle Mueller round the corner at the exact right moment, look in the exact right direction, and open that hatch, just in time.

**

"Breathe, Jinx, breathe."

Saul was aware of someone holding him up as he gulped down oxygen. He wheezed, coughed, as the darkness retreated from his vision.

"Take it easy," said the voice. Saul focused on it, blinking the tears out of his eyes, so he could see who had saved his life.

It was Mueller.

"Carson," Saul choked out. "It was Carson. Chief's dead. You gotta go after him. He's heading for... Hangar deck, he's gonna get away."

Mueller hesitated.

"Go," urged Saul.

Mueller glanced down at him, the conflict written across his face. "I'm not leaving you alone," he said. "I've got to get you to sickbay."

"No," said Saul. "I need to go to CiC. Gotta tell Bill." He tried to stand, but stumbled and dropped to his knees.

"Come on," said Mueller, helping him up again. "One foot in front of the other, Jinx, that's it."

Saul was aware how ridiculous they looked, him clinging tightly to Mueller as he limped along the hallway, Mueller who had only days before beaten Saul up while his hands were tied.

Maybe Mueller knew what he was thinking, because he said, "It was Carson's idea. It was Carson who was so insistent you were guilty, and he just had such good reasoning and it seemed so…"

"He was setting me up," spat Saul.

"I know," said Mueller irritably. "It's not my fault, Tigh."

Saul was silent, too annoyed to say anything.

Mueller continued. "I guess I was just—gods, I'm such an idiot." He gripped Saul's shoulder a little tighter.

Saul didn't say anything. His mom had always told him if he didn't have anything nice to say, he shouldn't say anything at all.

"I shouldn't have listened to him," Mueller went on, shoving Saul forward. "Godsdamn sandsniffer terrorist."

"Hey," said Saul sharply. "Watch it. I'm a godsdamn sandsniffer. We're not all terrorists."

Mueller sighed. "Sorry, Jinx. It's just I—" Something slammed into Mueller from behind, knocking them both to the deck. Saul flopped, helpless, off to the side, choking back the wave of nausea from the sudden disorientation.

Carson had Mueller pinned, his face a mask of rage. "Say that again," he said coldly.

Mueller didn't relent. " _You_! You frakked with my head," he said scornfully. "Manipulated me."

Carson snorted. "It was easy enough, what with how much you hate him." He jerked his head toward Saul. "Hatred is the easiest emotion to prey on, especially _irrational_ hatred." Saul could hear the hint of the accent there, something he'd never noticed before in Carson's voice.

"I didn't know you were from Aerilon," said Mueller.

"And why should I have told you? So you can call me a godsdamn sandsniffer? Like you used to talk about him?"

Mueller's lip curled. "I'm _not_ a racist, okay? I just…"

"Just what?" shouted Carson. "Just what, Stingray?"

"My dad," he said. "My dad was the only man from Caprica in his unit. Him and bunch of sa—guys from southern Aerilon. He was their lieutenant. They were marines, during the war." He looked pointedly at Carson. "He died by friendly fire."

"And what does _that_ mean?"

Mueller's eyes narrowed. "They killed him. These guys, they were separatists. My dad always said how much he hated being around these guys, how much they resented him—"

"Look," said Carson, pressing his gun to Mueller's forehead. "Everyone's got some sob story about how hard their life's been. And you know what? Maybe your dad should have treated his men a little better, huh? I need you to do something for me, _sir_. Get me down to the hangar deck, get me a ship, let me get back to my people, and no one dies."

Blinking blearily, Saul reached out his hand, felt cold metal. Mueller's gun. It must have been knocked out of his hand and Carson hadn't noticed.

"No frakking way," said Mueller. "You betrayed an _oath_. I'm not doing the same."

Saul wrapped his hand around the butt, nudging it closer.

"You heard what I said," said Carson, pushing his gun harder against Mueller's head. "One more chance."

 _C'mon_ , Saul thought. _C'mon_. He lifted the gun slowly. It felt infinitely heavier than it should have and he had to wrap his left hand around his right wrist to keep from dropped it. He couldn't risk hitting Mueller; he had to aim just right…

Carson cocked his gun. Mueller closed his eyes.

Saul pulled the trigger.

  
[On to Chapter Sixteen](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/4449.html)   
  



	16. Smoke and Mirrors 16/16

_  
**Smoke and Mirrors 16/16**   
_   
[Back to Chapter Fifteen](http://community.livejournal.com/ps_writes/4164.html)

  
The recoil rolled him over. Instantly, Mueller was as his side. "You okay, Jinx?"

Saul looked up groggily. "I kill him?"

"No," said Mueller quietly, glancing back at Carson, who was groaning and holding his shoulder tightly.

Saul wasn't sure if he was relieved or not.

"Hey," said Mueller. "Look. Tigh. You—"

"Major Mueller! Captain Tigh! Are you all right, sirs?" Saul glanced up. A group of marines headed by Bixby was moving down the hall, weapons out.

"Yeah," said Saul, struggling to his feet and pushing his still-sticky hair off his forehead. "We're fine."

Suddenly an alarm started to blare. "Get him out of here," said Mueller, pointing at Carson.

Bixby hesitated.

"Do it," confirmed Saul.

They jerked a woozy Carson to his feet and Saul looked away. "You need to get to the hangar deck," he said, taking a hesitant step. "You need to get in your Viper. I'm going to CiC."

Mueller hesitated. For a split second, it seemed as though he was genuinely concerned about Saul's chances of getting to CiC. But then, he saluted, turned on his heel and ran. Saul pushed away from the wall and took a step.

 _Come on, you can do it_ , he told himself. _One foot in front of the other, Jinx, that's it_.

**

The alarm was the last thing Bill needed right now.

"What?" he snapped.

Clark swallowed hard. "The ASF ship has a lock on us. They're going to start shooting."

Bill looked down at the console. "Fire back and tell our fighters to stay out of the way. If we lose Dradis, they are authorized to engage." He glanced around. "And where the hell is Carson?"

As if on cue, the hatch to CiC swung open, but it wasn't Carson.

Saul toppled forward. The marine sentry caught him before he hit the ground.

Bill was at his side instantly. "Are you okay?" he asked, though he knew it was a stupid thing to say. Saul's nose was obviously broken and his hair was matted with blood, but he seemed coherent and his eyes were focused.

Saul gave him a look. "I'm fine," he said tartly.

"Have you seen Sergeant Carson?"

"I guess you could say that," said Saul, taking a tentative step and grabbing the console.

Bill's frown deepened, though he didn't take his hand from Saul's shoulders. "What do you mean?"

Saul swallowed hard. That nervous tic around his mouth was going, Bill noticed.

"I shot him," said Saul quietly. "He was about to kill Mueller." Haltingly, he told Bill everything that had happened to him since he'd been down below.

"Carson," Bill repeated. "It was Carson." He'd known it was one of their men, but he'd never suspected Carson, had never suspected anybody.

"What's going on up there?" Saul asked, nodding at the Dradis monitors.

Bill told him.

Saul took a deep breath. He seemed to be doing all right, though Bill was close to calling for a med team to bring him an oxygen tank. "Major Mueller is the one who found me," he said. "I sent him down to the hangar deck as soon as I heard the alarm, though."

Bill processed this. "Right," he said, looking back up at Dradis. "I guess I can't get you to go to sickbay."

"Not on your life," said Saul. "Side-by-side, remember?"

"Yeah," said Bill. "Side-by-side."

**

Watching a Viper battle on Dradis was a weird experience for Saul. He couldn't help thinking he needed to be down there—as LSO, hell, he'd even rather be a pilot. But Bill wanted him here, needed him here and Saul wasn't about to let him down.

" _Columbia_ , Goober." Goober's voice on the speakers sounded tinny and nervous. "They're pretty good. They learned to fly somewhere."

"Probably a bunch of academy washouts," Saul noted. "Kids who got fancy flying bush planes back home." He looked back up at the monitor. He knew who was who, knew them by their numbers. 859 was Mueller, 762 was Goober, 201 Jumpshot, 295 was Cat's Eye…

"Our fighters just shot down an ASF ship," announced Clark. There were a few muted noises of celebration from the CiC crew, as if they didn't know whether or not killing a civilian was something to cheer for.

"And…" Clark paused. "Oh my gods."

Viper 201 blinked and disappeared.

Bill looked up in disbelief. "We're losing people out there?"

As if on cue, Lucy's voice came over the wireless. " _Columbia_ , Bubbles. We… we just lost somebody. Couldn't get there in time. I—I—she didn't… Jumpshot, I think it was Jumpshot." Lucy sounded like she was choking back a sob, and Saul could hear someone else's—Ratchet's voice in there with her. Gods, how had he suspected Ratchet? He was a decent guy.

"We can't let this happen," said Bill, his hands still on the receiver, pushing on it as if it wasn't setting in the cradle properly. "We have to go."

"Where?" said Saul. "We can't get past that ship; they'll shoot at us."

Bill set his features. "Commander Brandon's condition is deteriorating. We can't wait this out."

"Sir, we're three days out from the nearest colony, at best," said Clark.

"I know," said Bill. "I don't intend to wait that long."

Clark and Saul exchanged glances.

"Sir?" Saul hesitated.

"Bring our birds home," said Bill. "And begin jump prep."

No one moved.

Bill surveyed the CiC. "I said _begin jump prep_ ," he barked. Still, no one moved.

Saul leaned across the console. "Bill, are you crazy? We can't jump."

Bill looked Saul square in the eyes. "Maybe," he said. "We're in a bad situation, Captain. I want to get out of it."

"We can't just run!" Saul sputtered.

"Those aren't Cylons out there," said Bill, his voice low. "They're humans—civilians."

"They're terrorists! They killed our people."

Bill leaned closer to him. "And more of our people are going to die, Saul, if we don't get out of here now. We need to get our pilots back and get Brandon to a hospital."

"How do you know the ship'll take it?"

"I don't." He swallowed hard. "Sometimes you have to roll the hard six."

Saul stared at him. "What?"

Bill waved it away. "Never mind now. You're my acting XO, Saul. Are you going to carry out my orders or not?"

Saul bit his lip. What would happen if he refused? He wasn't sure if jumping would kill them all, and it was certain that staying here would at least kill more of them.

Finally, he looked up at all the crewmembers standing there watching them. "You heard the man," he said, with a voice he hadn't even known he'd had inside him. "Begin jump prep to Scorpion Fleet Shipyards."

There was a pause. Clark was the first to move. He grabbed the manual from underneath his station and began flipping through it, muttering something about it being just like the simulation drills.

Saul grabbed the handset. "All Vipers, _Columbia_. Return to the nest. Repeat, return to the nest."

" _What_?" That was Goober. "Jinx, you can't be serious. We're kicking tail out here."

"Those are the XO's orders," said Saul. "Come on home."

There was a long pause. "Roger that, _Columbia_ ," said Mueller. "All Vipers, Stingray. Form up on me."

"Sir!" cried Clark. "The other ship is launching missiles."

"Start the clock," said Bill.

The missile hit and the deck rocked. Saul gripped the console tightly to stay on his feet.

"What's the status of our fighters?" he shouted.

"Hangar deck reports they're all in, sir," said Hunter.

"How much longer until we jump?"

There was another missile hit and some glass shattered over to Bill's left. He flinched, then schooled his features.

"Three minutes," reported Clark.

"Damage?" asked Bill.

"Minimal, sir."

"FTL?"

"Stable."

Bill took a deep breath. Saul crossed over to him and squeezed his shoulder. "Are you _positive_ about this, Bill? We could all..."

Bill swallowed hard. "She's a tough old girl. She'll make it. And the commander needs a hospital."

Saul kept his voice low. "The commander would want to bring these bastards in. _Triton_ 's on the other side of here, if we just—"

"We're leaving." Bill's voice was firm and he pressed his fist against the console, bracing himself.

"They killed our people."

"They killed _enough_ people," said Bill sharply. "We're going."

"We're ready, sir," said Clark.

Bill bit his lip. Saul could practically see the gears turning in his head. "Helm, bring our port side around."

"Bill?" asked Saul hesitantly. "What are you doing?"

"You'll see," muttered Bill.

"Sir?" asked Plummer.

"Keep going, Mr. Plummer. Set a course for the enemy ship."

"Sir?"

"Do it."

"Sir, what about the jump?" asked Clark.

"Hold it," said Bill. "Do it on my mark. Steady as she goes."

Saul felt his stomach twist. He hoped they got out of this all right. Bill's confidence was admirable, but it was surely no guarantee.

"Sir," said Plummer, "what are we going to do?"

Bill smirked. "One of the oldest tricks in the book."

"What are you talking about?" muttered Saul.

Bill grinned. "I know you've got a thing for Jack Bennett. So I'm sure you've seen _High Seas_."

Saul stared at him. How the frak was that relevant? "Yeah," he said slowly. "Only a couple hundred times. You know it's my favorite, Bill… _Oh_."

Saul was instantly transported back to the first time he'd seen _High Seas_ —it had been right after the war and low-tech historical stuff had been in demand. Saul had just been discharged and was unemployed, but he'd had to make time to see this one. It had been nice to spend a few hours in a darkened movie theater forgetting his troubles, and he'd lost track of how many times he'd seen it since then. He knew it practically by heart, especially this part.

Bill's smile was very unnerving. "Hard to port," he announced. "Ramming speed."

Plummer looked pale, but he did as he was told. Kids never saw the classics these days.

Saul gripped the console tightly, fighting against the wooziness that threatened to catch up with him. This would work, it had to work. He had confidence that Bill knew what he was doing.

"Sir, we're going to hit them," announced Plummer.

"Good," said Bill. "Mr. Clark, prepare to jump on my mark."

Despite waiting with bated breath, the next hit surprised Saul enough to knock him of his feet.

"Our port flight pod as impacted the enemy ship," said Clark, over the alarms that had begun to sound. Saul felt a rising dread from somewhere deep inside him. They weren't going to make it.

"Get us out of here, Bill," he muttered. "If you're going to do it, do it now."

That seemed to be what Bill needed to jerk him from his reverie.

"Execute jump!" he barked.

For a split second, Saul had thought it wasn't going to work. Maybe the FTL drives had been hit after all, or maybe after years of disuse, they didn't work right anymore. They were going to completely collide with the enemy ship and they were all going to die.

The ship shook again and Saul's legs were knocked out from under him. Glass broke, instrument panels shorted and there was a great groan of metal, as if the entire ship was about to be ripped in half like a great tin can.

Saul held his breath, praying they'd done it.

Plummer looked astonished. "Jump… complete."

Hunter leaned forward. "Sir, shipyard control is hailing us."

Bill grinned. "Patch me in." He reached down and pulled Saul to his feet. "We need to get Commander Brandon down there ASAP."

Saul breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, I guess we did it."

"Yeah," said Bill, running a hand through his hair. He looked like he might collapse from exhaustion. "I guess we did."

Saul nodded to the phone as Bill reached for it. "You want me to handle that?"

Bill paused for a moment, seeming to actually consider it. "Nah," he said finally. "It ought to be me."

Saul nodded. "Well, I ain't going anywhere." He gave Bill's hand a quick squeeze, releasing it immediately. "Side-by-side, remember?"

Bill looked a little more comfortable. "Yeah," he said, thumping Saul on the back and reaching for the phone. "I remember."

**

The light woke Saul before he was ready. Another reason he hated being on solid ground. Carefully, he slipped out of bed and padded across the floor to the window.

Bill's quarters at the base on Scorpia weren't exactly a suite at the Caprica Grand, but they were somewhat better than those aboard ship. For one thing, there was a real bed with room to spread out in, though he was pretty sure Bill was going to start insisting Saul sleep in his own rack down in the officers' bunkhouse tonight.

The view was nice, too. Saul watched the Vipers taking off from the airfield. It would be nice to be down there, log some flight hours. Maybe he still had a shot at his senior pilot's wings, even if he was probably stuck flying a desk for the rest of his career.

"Get away from the window," said Bill groggily. "This is how rumors get started."

Saul closed the curtain. "Good morning to you, too."

Bill yawned. "Get your ass back over here. I'm not done with it yet."

Saul grinned and crossed the room again, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"You busy today?" he asked, leaning in to kiss Bill.

"Nope." Bill tugged Saul down on top of him. "I filed my final report yesterday. Investigation's still going on—Aerilon law enforcement raided the ASF camp yesterday, and they picked up some guys, but more scattered. Carson is getting a military trial, though; they're going to rule against extradition. You'll have to testify at the hearing, but they're waiting for Brandon to get better."

"How is he?"

"Recovering. He had surgery. They haven't told him what happened yet. I spoke to his wife. Apparently, she knows my dad. I think we talked more about him than Brandon." Bill rolled his eyes. "He'll be back on his feet, though. I'll tell him everything when he can hear it."

"You need me there?" Saul asked. "Offer still stands."

Bill paused. "Nah," he said, not meeting Saul's eyes. "It's my job. Brandon needs to hear it from me." He sighed. "I need to own up to it."

Saul looked at him like he was crazy. "Own up for what? It was the right call for the situation. What else were you supposed to have done?"

Bill snorted. "Not run, for one thing."

"Hey," said Saul firmly. "They're going to get those bastards. And the rest of us made it through in one piece. That's the important part, right?"

"Yeah," said Bill thoughtfully.

"Just like _Columbia_?"

Bill smiled, reached up to brush Saul's hair behind his ear. "Just like _Columbia_." He kissed him.

"Can't wait to get back up there," Saul murmured.

"You've got a bit of wait." Bill yawned. "That jump pretty much crushed the port flight pod. It'll take probably six weeks to pound out all the dings we got from jumping with them out, plus the hits we took in the battle."

"She's a good ship," said Saul. "She'll make it."

"I know. We just have to amuse ourselves while we wait."

Saul smirked. "I can think of a couple things," he murmured against Bill's throat.

Bill chuckled, Saul loving the rumble beneath him. "There's that. Work, too."

"Oh," said Saul. "That." He paused. "I'd like to get some cockpit time, too."

Bill grinned. "Sounds like a plan." He paused. "Hey, how's your nose?"

Saul looked up. "My nose?" There was a beat, before he remembered it had been broken. "It's fine," he said. Bill kissed the tip of it and he winced. "Mostly fine. Doc set it. Couple weeks, you'd never know."

"That's good," said Bill. "Maybe next deployment, we can avoid getting beat up or shot."

"Us?" said Saul with a grin. "That'd have to be a pretty boring deployment."

Bill grinned and flipped Saul over onto his back, kissing him deeply. "I'm not too sure about that," he said teasingly.

"What?" asked Saul. "You know something I don't know?"

Bill's smirk was amazingly frustrating.

"There you go again," said Saul. "Abusing your command authority."

"Oh, you like it," said Bill, letting his hand trail lower.

Kissing him was the only way Saul knew to shut him up.

"What happened to going flying?" asked Bill when Saul had let him go.

Saul smiled as a Viper shot overhead, rattling the glass in the window. "We've got time. Plenty of time."

After all they'd been through, Saul figured they deserved to sleep in.

  


  
_FIN_   


  



End file.
